


Stupid Cupid

by Fatale (femme)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M, ha ha, wing fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2019-11-18 10:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18118937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale
Summary: Alec grimaces, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m your guardian angel and I’m here to help you find love.”“Go away,” Magnus says.The grimace slides off Alec’s face and he blinks his wide doe eyes, startled.He is lovely, Magnus thinks, for a creepy stranger that breaks into semi-innocent men’s apartments and sleeps next to them like a freak.“Can’t do that,” Alec insists. “You asked, we answered. I’ve been assigned to stay here until you find eternal bliss in the loving arms of another.”“So, you’re Cupid?”“Do I look like a chubby baby to you?” Alec asks, deeply unimpressed.---Alec is Magnus' guardian angel, tasked with finding him true love. Things don't go as planned, but they never really do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> #stupidfic  
> @fatalewrites on twitter. come say hi!!!

 

 

Magnus rolls over in bed after a fitful night of sleep. He must have overdone it yesterday at the gym; his back feels tight, sore.

It’s worth it, he thinks, for a rocking body like--" _AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”_

“Heya, sweetheart,” says a large man dressed all in black. He’s sitting atop the bedspread, back pressed against the headboard, legs casually crossed at the ankles.

“Who the hell are you?” Magnus yells, clutching his bed sheet to his chest. He has no virtue left to steal, but that doesn’t keep him from trying to preserve some of it.

“Strictly speaking, it’s not in a language you would understand and it would probably spontaneously deafen you to hear it, so why don’t you just call me Alec?”

“Well, Alec, what the hell are you doing in my bed? Exactly how drunk was I last night?”

“Pretty drunk,” Alec says, shrugging, “but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“Which bar did I pick you up at? Was it Nine Inch Males? Studs n’ Suds?” His voice drops, filled with unfathomable amounts of shame, “The Flaming Man Hole?”

“Is that a gay--”

“It’s nothing and I’ve never been there,” Magnus interrupts loudly.

“Then why would you think you picked me up--”

“Let it go,” Magnus says, knuckles white from gripping his sheet so tightly.

“Last night, you looked up at the stars and you had that stray thought wishing for someone to come help you find love after your last breakup. That was nasty, by the way, and I think you’re better off without her.”

“How the hell you know about that?” Magnus asks, recoiling in horror. If he scoots any further away from Alec, he’ll be moving in with his next-door neighbor, a grouchy geriatric woman who insults his shoes every time he helps her bring in her groceries.

No matter how Alec had stumbled by the information, it was unerringly accurate: his breakup had been horrible and he had seen a shooting star while stumbling home from unmentionable places last night. His mom once told him to always wish on shooting stars. He’s seen so many during his lifetime, it’s become a running joke among his friends about how lucky he is.

Magnus supposes that’s because they don’t know what he really wishes for.

Alec grimaces, arms crossed over his chest. “Doesn’t matter. I’m your guardian angel and I’m here to help you find love.”

“Go away,” Magnus says.

The grimace slides off Alec’s face and he blinks his wide doe eyes, startled.

He is lovely, Magnus thinks, for a creepy stranger that breaks into semi-innocent men’s apartments and sleeps next to them like a freak.

“Can’t do that,” Alec insists. “You asked, we answered. I’ve been assigned to stay here until you find eternal bliss in the loving arms of another.”

“So, you’re Cupid?”

“Do I look like a chubby baby to you?” Alec asks, deeply unimpressed.

“Prove it.”

“Prove what?”

“Prove that you’re an angel or whatever.”

Alec sits up, and for the first time, Magnus looks at him, _really_ looks at him. He’s wearing a leather jacket, some kind of thick black utilitarian pants with a wickedly curved blade strapped to his thigh. Magnus shivers.

But what Magnus doesn’t understand how he possibly could have missed is the large white shuddering wings behind Alec, stretching from mid-ear nearly down to his knees, and hanging off the side of the bed. Unfurled, they would probably be able to skim both walls of his apartment at the same time.

“Holy shit,” Magnus breathes.

“See?” The feathers on Alec’s wings twitch in a way that can only be described as deeply smug.

“All I see is that I’ve finally gotten so desperate and lonely that I’m hallucinating a man in my bed.”

“I’m not a man, strictly speaking.”

“Oh my god, I’ve dated so many assholes that I’ve made the man a literal angel. My subconscious is _deranged_. I should take a sick day from work.”

“S-sick day?” Alec says.

“And my hallucination is an idiot.”

“Hey now, no need to be unkind,” Alec says mildly. He stretches his arms out and shifts a little and Magnus notices two more things: that he has a large, mean-looking tattoo on his neck and that he is big, almost absurdly so. He leans over and starts pawing through the crap on Magnus’ side table. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in the mundane world and everything’s changed so much. Where’s your record collection?”

“I—never had one.”

For the first time, Alec looks truly affronted. “You don’t like music? Everyone like music. I’m partial to Tuvan throat singing, Gregorian chants, and Elton John.”

Magnus doesn’t even know what to do with that information, so he does what he does best. He ignores everything that troubles him. “No. I do enjoy music but I just listen to it on my phone.”

Alec looks mystified. “And the operator allows that?”

Magnus rubs his temples, a sharp pain forming behind his left eye.

“Okay,” Alec says decisively, hopping up from the bed. He pushes back the curtains to stare out at the city, letting in bright shafts of cheerful sunlight. Magnus does his best not to shriek like the soggy, melting Wicked Witch of the West, but it’s a near thing. Magnus and early mornings have a tentative truce never to willingly interact.

Now that Alec’s standing in front of the window, Magnus can see that he’s slightly translucent like he’s slightly out of phase, a radio signal that cuts out at the good part of the song. Nothing really touches him.

Alec says, “Take your day of ailment and catch me up on the 21st century.”

 

\---

 

  
Magnus is taking a shower, hysterically lathering his hair while a six-foot-something angel putters around in his kitchen, curiously tasting everything in his refrigerator.

Good luck with that, Magnus thinks. Most of the shit in there is out of date.

He rinses his hair out and shuts off the water. He reaches out blindly and grabs a towel, wrapping it around his waist. He ambles out to the kitchen to find Alec’s pulled everything out of his cabinets and refrigerator and has been liberally helping himself to all of it. He’s currently taking a bite of half a bar of chocolate. Ragnor says that’s how he knows Magnus is a shady person. He maintains Magnus is probably the kind of asshole to eat half a protein bar and wrap the rest up for later. He totally is and has six stale half-eaten protein bars in his gym bag to prove it.

While Magnus watches, flabbergasted and dripping on the cheap linoleum, Alec pulls the foil back off a cup of yogurt and dips a finger in, popping it into his mouth. He finally looks up and notices Magnus staring.

“I like yogurt,” Alec says, licking his lips in a distracting manner. He’s sitting on the kitchen counter, long legs dangling over the side. He holds up a box sitting next to him. “I do not like the taste of these.”

“That’s because they’re coffee filters,” Magnus says, blinking.

Alec tosses them aside and curiously tips a bottle of salad dressing over, making a soft, distressed noise when a sloppy dollop lands on the toe of his shoe.

“Give me that,” Magnus snaps, tucking the edge of his towel over to keep it in place and grabbing a bowl. He fills it halfway full wit dressing, then tosses the empty bottle on the trash handing the bowl to Alec.

“So,” Alec says, shaking his bowl experimentally, “why don’t we get started? I can start finding matches for you and the sooner you find endless bliss, the sooner I can get with the shuffling off this mortal hellscape and back to my real job.”

“Which is.”

Alec shrugs. “Angel stuff.”

“You’re awfully cynical for a cupid.”

“For last time,” Alec says, exasperated. “I’m not a cupid. I’m an angel. Just like all the other angels. But my assignment happens to be love.”

“Honestly, you’re pretty terrible at it.”

“Hey,” Alec says. “I’m not the one with such a shitty dating history that I had to have the heavenly host come bail me out. You get that’s bad, right? Bottom of the barrel stuff.”

Magnus winces. “Low blow, but you are not incorrect.” He scrubs a hand through his still damp hair. “What do angels know about love anyway? Do you all fall in love?” He can’t help but glance over at Alec – all of him. “Do you all even have sex?” A terrible thought occurs to him. “You have working parts, don’t you? It’s not smooth like Ken doll?”

Alec cups his groin protectively. “It’s all there. Some angels even indulge in pleasures of the flesh, but I don’t.”

“Why the hell not?” Magnus demands. Abstinance? Who would do such a horible thing?

Alec shrugs carelessly. “Never saw any reason to? Mundanes seem extremely preoccupied with it. Almost unreasonably so. You go to war over women, for god’s sakes.”

Magnus thinks back in a pathetic attempt to remember AP History lessons. He cannot, to his recollection, think of any modern wars fought specifically over a woman. Then he thinks of AP Lit. “Wait – are you talking the Trojan war?”

“What other war would I be talking about? The Trojans were pretty good fighters. You know, until they all died.”

“I feel like,” Magnus says, struggling to put his thoughts in order, “that was a really long time ago and mostly myth. I’m not sure you should hold that against us silly mundanes.”

“Love is kind of a fallacy, isn’t it? Electrical synapses, hormones, all mixed in with sexual gratification. What a mess and better avoided.”

Magnus had, frankly, never heard anyone talk about love and lovemaking in quite so dismissive terms. Alec talked about love like it was a turd found on the floor in a public restroom.

He’s so beautiful, Magnus thinks mournfully, what a tragic waste.

But their views on life and love differ so much that he suspects they can never fully understand each other. The best Magnus can hope to do is to fall in love quickly and let Alec fly away to Jupiter or wherever he goes when not deigning to meddle in mundane affairs and hate love and joy in self-righteous solitude.

"Yeah," Magnus says, eyeing the crumpled wrappers and empty boxes littering the countertop, "I can see you hate messes."

“It’s kind of punishment,” Alec muses, swirling a piece of chocolate in his bowl of ranch dressing,

“Love is a punishment,” Magnus says flatly.

“For me, it is,” Alec says simply. He pops the chocolate into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. He takes in the towel wrapped around Magnus' waist, his general state of befuddled dishevelment. “Hey, neat skirt. Is that what the kids are wearing today?”

 

\---

  
Magnus gets dressed, notifies his employer he won't be in for the day, then spends an exhausting day trying to explain WiFi and how microwaves work, gives up in the early evening and orders a pizza. He pays the deliveryman and watches as Alec proceeds to eat all but a single slice. “It’s been a while since I’ve eaten,” Alec says in between noisy bites.

“How long?” Magnus asks in horrified fascination.

“Twenty years, give or take. I think I ate some of that fried dough at a carnival.”

“Elephant ears,” Magnus says absently. They used to be his favorite when he was a kid. He still remembers balancing the greasy paper plate on his knees, biting into the hot, cherry-covered dough, licking the sticky powdered sugar off of his fingertips. “I take it angels don’t need to eat regularly.”

“We don’t have to technically eat at all, but I forgot how much I enjoyed it.”

“Have you missed anything else?”

Alec pauses, pizza halfway to his mouth. He eats it crust first like some kind of monster. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, people? Places? Things? Where do you go in between assignments? Who do you talk to?”

“This is supposed to be about you. What are you looking for in a partner? What qualities do you like? Who could you see yourself with?”

“Isn’t this supposed to be your part of the job?” Magnus asks, picking the pepperoni off his slice, which suddenly looks rubbery and unappetizing.

“I’m not omnipotent,” Alec explains impatiently. “I can only nudge mundanes in the right direction. You’ve got to put in some effort.”

“I’ve put in nearly thirty years of effort and I’m fucking tired of dating.” Magnus immediately feels bad for cursing at an angel, even an awful and kind of angry one. “Pardon my French.”

Alec frowns. “That’s not French.”

“Oh my fucking god, never mind,” Magnus says. “I don’t have anything specific in mind. I want someone—oh, I don’t know.”

“I don’t know,” Alec repeats. “Well, that gives me a lot to start with.”

Magnus doesn’t know how to explain to Alec why he doesn’t know, that every time he thinks he’s found the right person, they do something terrible, or he does. He doesn’t know how to explain to a naive celestial being who eats ranch dressing with chocolate that some things seem perfect and then they just fall apart for no reason at all. How does he tell someone specifically tasked with finding him perfect love that after a thousand disappointments and heartbreaks, Magnus is no longer convinced it exists.

He doesn’t know why he has a such a strong urge to protect an enormous angel that crash-landed into his life, but here he is: nearly thirty years old with an uninvited guest and wondering why but unable to say that out of everyone on the planet, he seems specifically easy to leave.

He can’t say it.

To say the words out loud would be to make them truth and it’s such an awful truth that he may never fully recover.

He tosses down his slice of pizza, no longer hungry.

“I just don’t know if I’m up for dating,” Magnus says finally.

Alec looks back at steadily. “What are your options here, exactly? It’s either that or give up completely, and you don’t strike me as a quitter. So, why don’t you try?”

 

\---

  
Magnus cleans up and stacks the pizza box on top of his trashcan for a day when he feels like cleaning and taking out the trash, which will probably never come. “Want to watch some TV?”

“I guess,” Alec says, patting his belly like a satisfied cat. “We’re supposed to be working on true love or something.”

“As deliriously exciting as you make love sound,” Magnus says dryly, “I’m too tired. We can start the love search tomorrow.”

Though Magnus literally talks to people at a call center for a living, it’s all just scripted small talk, which he can do in his sleep. Sometimes does. Actually communicating with someone else takes effort and now, he’s exhausted.

He turns on the TV and watches it flicker to life. “Do you know what a TV is?”

“I prefer the radio,” Alec says but settles in, awkwardly perched on the arm of the couch. He looks deliriously uncomfortable but party-crashers don’t get to be whiners.

“What are you comfortable watching? I feel like TLC is too much for you.” There’s only so much trashy culture shock Magnus can bring himself to expose Alec to in one day.

“I always wondered what happened to Ross and Rachel after he cheated on her.”

Magnus does a double-take, then remembers, ah yes, the nineties. The last time Alec interacted with the boring human world. “I’m pretty sure it’s on Netflix.”

Magnus finds the right season and pushes play, one episode blurring into another. At some point, he murmurs, “How did a waitress and a line cook afford such a big ass apartment?”

“It’s the television magic,” Alec says quietly back, eyes still glued to the TV. “Just accept that there are some things that can’t be explained.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Magnus says, sleepily watching the angel sitting on his couch, enraptured by nineties sitcoms.

A while later, Magnus yawns, feeling himself drift slowly to a laugh track and Chandler saying, “Could this _be_ any weirder?”

No, it really couldn’t, Magnus thinks, giving in to the warm tug of sleep pulling him slowly down.

A few hours later, something startles Magnus awake. He comes to with his head pillowed against Alec’s leg, which stretches all the way from the armrest to the floor. “But it’s so long,” Magnus says, voice slurred, still half asleep.

“What’s that?” Alec asks.

Alec's hand had been resting against the back of his neck. Magnus' neck feels cold and clammy in the absence of that reassuring heat.

Belatedly, Magnus realizes just how close his face is to Alec’s crotch. “Oh my god,” he mutters, jerking away. He’s been drooling in his sleep.

Alec has changed the channel and is watching a movie, completely unaware of how perilously close his dick got to being drooled on.

Magnus discreetly wipes his mouth and tries to finger-comb his hair. “What is this?”

“The Titanic? It’s about the boat.”

On screen, Kate Winslet makes eyes at Leonardo DiCaprio as he oh-so-casually brushes his hair back from his face. They’re going to dry-hump soon.

“I should probably go to bed. Can you turn this off? I can’t sleep with the TV on.” It's the exact reason Magnus broke up with his third boyfriend, a dirty television watcher who could only sleep with noise.

“But I’ll miss the ending,” Alec protests.

“The boat sinks, everyone dies.”

“Thanks for the spoilers,” Alec grumbles, but grabs the remote and flicks the TV off. The room is plunged into darkness, Alec no more than a dark shape taking up too much of the room, his white wings etched in silver moonlight.

“It’s too late for that level of tragedy anyway,” Magnus says, looking away. “I have to go to work tomorrow and make money to buy food so you can eat it in bizarre and unappetizing combinations.”

“I don’t sleep,” Alec says.

“I—really?” Magnus says. It could be like eating; Alec doesn’t necessarily need to but enjoys the process to a terrifying degree. If he ever got Alec to nap, Alec might not wake up for fifty years.

But where would he even sleep? Magnus wonders, casting about his tiny apartment. What is the protocol here, exactly? It’s not like he _invited_ Alec into his life. He is not, strictly speaking, entirely sure Alec even exists and Magnus isn’t starting the fun, slow descent into lonely cat-ownership.

Alec belly-flops onto the couch, wings hanging askance at awkward angles, and Magnus goes to his bed and to grab his extra pillow. He’s always had two, just in case, even though no one has slept over for a long time. He turns on the bathroom light and uses the soft yellow glow to illuminate his way around furniture, a pile of dirty laundry. From the top of his closet, he grabs a musty-smelling blanket.

“Here,” he says, tossing the pillow to Alec.

Magnus watches him tuck the pillow up under his chin and sigh softly, eyes sliding shut and enormous wings shifting like two live things. They must be. Alive, that is. Maybe like a leg or an arm.

Magnus spreads the blanket over Alec’s legs and has the crazy urge to touch the wings, just inches away from his fingertips. Unthinkingly, he stretches his hand out and skims them over the graceful crest of the closest one. The spark is immediate, a white-hot electric flare. Alec jumps a little, but his eyes stay shut, long eyelashes a dark smudge against his cheeks in the fading light.

“Sorry, sorry,” Magnus says, feeling stupid, and goes to withdraw his hand, faint shock still clinging to his skin.

Alec shifts, grabbing his wrist and holding it in place, eyes still closed. “S’nice,” he mumbles. “Don’t stop.”

Magnus takes a deep breath and runs his hands over the wings, warm and soft beneath his palms. To his surprise, near the base, he can feel a thud like a drum, whoosh whoosh. It’s Alec’s heartbeat, aligning so closely to his, Magnus can barely tell them apart.

He pulls his hands back, skimming them over the shorter feathers at the top. Buried somewhere beneath all that surprising softness, there’s something buzzing and powerful and strong. Alec’s wings feel like pure energy, and once again, Magnus is struck by the blurry edges of him, the feeling that Alec exists somewhere with only one foot in this world, the other somewhere in the great beyond, somewhere Magnus could never fully understand or hope to follow. His wings feel like Magnus could make a fist and shatter them beneath his hands, but he doubts it’s the truth. They’re made of stronger stuff than they appear.

“Sweet dreams,” Magnus whispers, finally withdrawing his hands. They twitch uselessly at his sides.

“I don’t dream,” Alec says, bemused. His wings shudder and shift as if trying to press back into the comforting warmth of Magnus’ touch.

But that’s stupid. An angel would hardly need him.

“Well, why don’t you take your own advice and try?” Magnus says.


	2. Chapter 2

After a long, hellish day working at the call center, Magnus takes a sip of his tepid coffee, an early evening pick me up. He’d rather have tequila, but even he’s not that dumb and self-destructive yet.

Earlier that morning, he awoke with Alec on his couch in the same position he left him, which is to say: on his belly, wings splayed like a big blanket across his back. Alec said he didn’t sleep and Magnus had no reason to disbelieve him. Maybe that’s why Ales was always so crabby; if Magnus hadn’t slept for two-thousand years, he’d be a bit peevish too. Magnus got dressed and left Alec at home with the TV, the NYT crossword puzzle, and a dusty tablet that he generally couldn’t be fucked to charge.

If Alec really is a figment of his sex-starved imagination, then he’ll be gone when Magnus gets home. He doesn’t know how he feels about it.

Already loosening his tie, Magnus barrels through the revolving doors on the ground floor, thinking about what he wants to eat when two large wings catch his eye. At a bus stop, perched on the metal bench, he sees Alec bobbing his head to music, white earbuds in place, wearing sunglasses, and smoking.

“What the hell are you doing?” Magnus shouts, rounding on him. His heart gives a little leap that he doesn’t care to examine too closely.

“Smoking was cool last time I was in the mundane world.”

“Okay, but so were Pontiacs? It’s not now,” Magnus says, plucking the cigarette out of his mouth and stubbing it out in his styrofoam cup. “Jesus, where did you even get this? Where did you get the sunglasses? The iPod? I don’t even have an iPod.”

Alec pulls his earbuds out and carefully tucks them into his jacket pocket. He pulls his sleeve up, revealing another dark black swirl on his arm.

Oh good, Magnus thinks, he’s a member of an angelic biker gang and he probably stole them.

Alec taps his finger against the tattoo. “This mark here is persuasiveness. When I activate it, mundanes have the urge to give me stuff. Or just like, shove it in my general direction.”

“That’s theft,” Magnus points out.

“I leave them money.”

“Where did you get money?”

Alec slides his glasses up, resting them on top of his head. “I invested wisely the last time I was on earth. You should try it.”

Magnus looks around. The bus stop is abandoned, thank god. Alec stretches out his legs. “I like fruit,” he adds nonsensically.

“Good for you,” Magnus replies. “What do people do when they realize they have a pile of cash where their phone used to be?”

“Who knows?” Alec says. “In my experience, people mostly see what they want to. Crop circles? UFOs? It must be military testing! You mundanes can justify anything.” Alec shifts a bit and Magnus sees a quiver strapped to his back, dark brown leather and worn with countless years. “Please, no Cupid jokes,” he says, following Magnus’ gaze. “These are very dangerous weapons.”

“...do you shoot people with them so they fall in love?”

“...perhaps,” Alec grudgingly admits.

A woman comes up and sits down next to Alec. She glances at Magnus and gives him a nervous smile, then reaches into her purse and pulls a phone out. Magnus takes a few steps back so he’s not so clearly hovering. She starts scrolling through her phone mindlessly and with a sick, sharp jolt, Magnus realizes she can’t see Alec. She’s practically sitting in his lap; she should be able to feel his breath against her neck. And yet, her sideways glances are reserved solely for Magnus. If she can’t see Alec, then Magnus looks like he’s staring unblinkingly down at her, and he’s probably about five seconds away from being maced.

Magnus wordlessly turns and starts walking away. He hears the scuffle of feet and then Alec’s beside him, falling into step easily. Magnus walks faster, arms pumping, face red. Alec speeds up. Soon enough, they’re powerwalking through Manhattan like an absolute lunatics.

Alec catches up easily.

“So, I guess no one can see you, huh?” Magnus says through gritted teeth, looking resolutely straight ahead.

“Not unless they directly pertain to my mission. Or I want them to but I’ve found the enormous wings tend to be a distraction, and you know how it is.”

Magnus does not know how it is, could not possibly know anything of the sort. But less than forty-eight hours after waking up with an angel in his bed, Magnus has found it does very little good to point it out.

“So, I’m just going to look like I’m talking to myself, huh?”

A woman swerves to avoid him, casting him a worried glance. Magnus honestly can’t blame her.

“She wouldn’t have been good for you. She has a toe fetish,” Alec says easily.

“Can you read minds?” Magnus asks, horrified, feet skidding to a halt. He may or may not have had distinctly non-angelic thoughts about Alec in the shower this morning. He’s shitty at love, not blind.

Alec shrugs. “No, she just seems the type. Spend a few thousand years around them and mundanes become easy to read.”

That’s good to know. In approximately 1,970 years, Magnus won’t be so baffled and hurt by his fellow humans, their news-making crimes, their casual little everyday cruelties. It’s something to look forward to, he supposed.

Alec says, “There are seven billion people in the world, and at least one of them is your perfect match.”

“I don’t believe in soulmates,” Magnus tells him. He’s standing still in the bustle, the throng of people walking to get nowhere important. They’re paying him little mind, talking on their phones, each in their own separate world, unaware that they could reach out their hand and touch someone else. Somehow, it’s become intrusive to acknowledge the person next to you, embarrassing to admit you might need it.

Magnus starts walking again. A breeze has kicked up and it’s pulling his jacket back; he’s cold and he left his coat at work, but he’s gone too far without it. And he’ll get used to the cold eventually.

“Who said anything about soulmates,” Alec says. His wings are tucked in close and he’s dodging people, neatly swerving around them, as graceful as any dancer Magnus has seen.

Magnus wonders if, during Alec’s long life, he’s ever bothered to learn how to dance.

Alec takes the sunglasses off his head and folds them up, slips them in the bag of a passing woman, all without breaking stride. “I can see potential love matches. They’re like tiny threads that weave around and through people, connecting the world like a huge golden spiderweb.” He looks at Magnus meaningfully. “You see, no one is really alone.”

Magnus would beg to differ.

“Tell me more about yourself, it’ll make my job easier. Do you have any hobbies?” Alec’s voice drops. “Any interesting fetishes I should know about?”

“Besides shacking up with ungrateful angels?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’m a writer,” Magnus confesses, feeling unaccountably shy. He’s avoided saying it to himself, never mind out loud, for so long, that words feel large and foreign on his tongue. “That is to say, I write when I have the free time and I feel like it. I haven’t been writing much recently.”

“Novels? Short stories?” Alec asks, looking interested. They’re standing at the midsection on7th and W. 33rd, and Alec’s looking both ways like he couldn’t spread his wings and fuck off at any moment. “It’s safe,” he says, taking Magnus’ arm and guiding him across.

“Novels, mostly,” Magnus answer. “Well, one. I wrote one. And the first couple chapters of a second one.”

“I see. And how long have you been working on this second one?”

Magnus sighs, frustrated. “A decade? Okay, so I’m a little stalled out on the novel. I’m not sure if I can even call myself a writer at this point.”

“Sure you can, it’s not an exclusive title. Anyone who writes is a writer by writ of putting down words. It doesn’t require a license or anything.”

Magnus’ path to the present situation is a winding, convoluted one, and talking about it now makes him feel helpless and embarrassed, which is why, in the middle of a sidewalk in New York, he stops and says, voice raised, strained, “ _Look_ , I was in college and I wrote one perfect novel. It was kind of successful and now I’m afraid. Is that what you want to hear? That it might have been a fluke and I’m not really as talented as I thought?”

Alec blinks. “You’re afraid of failure?”

“No,” Magnus says quickly, then, “yes.” He licks his lips. “It’s been an extraordinarily shitty year. Scratch that, it’s been a real shitty _decade._ ”

Alec gives him an annoyingly canny looking. “But you’re not really trying, are you?”

“I know it’s silly, but what if I used all my talent up?”

“I’ll make it easy for you: you probably have.”

Magnus rocks back on his heels, face hot and hands balled into fists. “Oh my sweet fucking god, you’re the _worst_ guardian angel ever, you angelic _dickhead_.”

Alec steps closer until they're nearly nose to nose and all Magnus can see is the flecks of emerald green in his hazel eyes, the warm brown, the vein of rust. The fury. “You don’t have any talent? You got burned by love? Then what do you have to lose? You work a dead end job that you hate, you re-write the same tortured sentence day after day, staring at your computer screen, take a million breaks to get food, to get coffee, watch Law and Order, play video games, all while thinking about all the writing you _should_ be doing. You have nothing and no one Magnus, so what do you really have to lose by trying?”

“You’re right,” Magnus confesses quietly, his sudden surge of anger dissipating as it were never there. He feels empty, the wind gone out of his sails and a thousand miles from shore. He’s let his friendships drift apart and told himself it was the natural order of things; he’s stopped working on anything creatively fulfilling. He’s been burned by relationships, so instead of finding the right person, he's settled on the right person for the night. “I have nothing and it’s my fault,” he says.

 

\---

  
Magnus stops by to get some takeout and they sit in moody silence waiting for their food. Magnus goes up to the counter and pays for the food, trying not to watch Alec perched on the stool by the window, watching pedestrians pass by.

He tries not to think about how grateful he is for the company, even if it is judgey, bitchy company.

Magnus grabs the bag and heads back to the apartment, Alec following close behind, where they eat in sullen silence.

“I’m sorry,” Alec says, pushing his takeout box away from him. He should be full; he ate nearly $45 worth of Kung Pao Chicken.

“Excuse me?” Magnus asks, laying down his wooden chopsticks. “I fear I may have spontaneously gone deaf.”

Alec scowls. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

He’s right. He shouldn’t have, but that doesn’t make the things he said any less true. “I’m going to try,” Magnus says. “I’ll try to find love and work on my book and not be such a disaster, is that good enough?”

“That’s all I was asking for,” Alec says.

“You could have been nicer about it,” Magnus grumbles.

“Yeah,” Alec agrees. “I suppose I could have.” It’s only when he sees Alec’s wings lower and relax that Magnus realizes how tense they were in the first place, that he’s possibly never seen Alec _truly_ relaxed. That for all Alec haughtily talks about “mundanes,” Magnus’ good opinion means _something_ to Alec.

“We could watch TV?” Magnus asks by way of apology.

“I always liked Dharma and Greg,” Alec says.

“A terrible show,” Magnus says dismissively. “We’re watching Full House. There’s been a recent spinoff.”

“That seems like a bad idea.”

“It is, but us dumb mundanes are full of bad ideas.” Magnus turns on the TV and the glow fills the room. The intro music begins and it’s like seeing old friends. Magnus sighs and settles into the couch, Alec sitting tentatively beside him. It squishes his wings, but it doesn’t seem to bother Alec.

Magnus surreptitiously watches him, the light flickering over Alec’s face as he watches.

“That neighbor, Kimmy, she’s my favorite,” Alec says, looking over at Magnus and grinning shyly.

Kimmy is no one’s favorite.

“Of course it is,” Magnus says affectionately, sitting entirely too close to Alec and feeling warm, inexplicably connected.

Perhaps that’s what Alec meant earlier, these golden threads that run through them all. Magnus doesn’t know, but for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel quite so alone.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

“I’ve got you a date,” Alec announces the next morning, pushing back the curtains and looking extremely proud of himself. _Rude_.

Magnus groans, turns away from the offending sight of daylight, and shoves his head beneath his pillow. “What time is it? Oh my god, who cares. It’s a Saturday, you crazy fool.”

Alec’s wings give an excited little quiver. “You’ve got a busy day ahead of you. First, your morning run and exercise. We’re going to take care of your spirit. Then, preparing for your date. We’re taking care of your mortal flesh.”

“My flesh is just fine being single.” A thought occurs to him. Magnus pulls the pillow off his head and sits up, alarmed. “Wait, it’s not the toe girl, is it?” he asks suspiciously.

“No, calm down. While you’ve been sleeping half your life away, I’ve been working hard.”

Magnus squints at him through one bleary eye. Alec’s eating a bagel loaded down with cream cheese and capers. “I can see that.”

“I created a dating profile for you on about a dozen different dating sites.”

“Did you use my laptop?” Magnus says quickly, “because I can explain the browser history.”

“The sites were very educational,” Alec says benignly. “You should have a better password. 1234, really?”

Magnus’ brain stutters to catch up with the conversation. “What dating profiles? Where? Did you put a picture of me on them?”

“I took a picture of you while you were sleeping,” Alec says like he’s completely oblivious to exactly how creepy that sounds. And he is. “You looked cute. Your mouth was wide open, kind of drooling a little. Got a lot of interest in your profile.” Alec’s wings twitch and a fluffy white feather floats down and lands on Magnus’ blanket. Magnus reaches a hand out and picks up the feather, absently stroking the soft down.

“Why do I need to go on blind dates?”

Alec’s brow furrows. “You’ll be able to see them--”

Magnus holds up a hand. “It’s an expression, let it go. Can’t you just shoot them with one of your arrows? Wham bam, we’re in love. Assignment complete.”

“These are extremely dangerous weapons,” Alec says, aggressively tapping his quiver. The vanes of his arrows are red like every picture of Cupid that Magnus has ever seen, but he doesn’t think Alec would appreciate him pointing that out. “Would you be happy if I made someone fall in love with you against their will?”

“Well,” Magnus says, seriously considering his constantly rotating list of movie star fantasies, but concludes, “No, I guess not, but – can you really do that?”

“Eh, not really, there has to be a connection there, one of those little threads. I can strengthen the bond, but I can’t create one where none exists.”

Being an angel seems surprisingly limited, a little boring, and not unlike Magnus’ crappy job of calling people for eight hours a day and inquiring if they’re happy with their current weight. Answer: no one is and no one is prepared to talk about it with a total stranger cold-calling them. Both professionally and personally, Magnus has gotten shockingly familiar with rejection.

Alec hands him a slip of paper. “Meet her at this restaurant.”

“Fancy,” Magnus mutters, looking down at the address. Careful planning means he still has some residuals left from his first book, but he’s scraping the bottom. This is going to hurt in more ways than one.

Alec throws open the door to his closet. “What are you going to wear?”

“I don’t know,” Magnus says, “I haven’t given it much thought since you informed me about it three seconds ago.”

“You look good in blue,” Alec offers, fingers skimming a shirt Magnus brought three years ago on a whim. It’s fitted, with little pearl buttons and a subtle sheen. Magnus bought it in the mistaken idea that a fancy shirt would make him feel better about his life; dress for the job and life you want. As it turns out, he doesn’t know what he wants from his life any more than he knows what he wants out of fashion. He’s stuck in this nebulous idea of good. He wants his life to be good but has no real idea how to get there besides wishing on errant shooting stars and that’s about as proactive as being a corduroy bean bag chair in a sad orgy: it’s no real way to live a life.

Magnus pauses. “How do you know I look good in blue?”

Alec looks deeply offended. “You don’t think I know fashion?”

“I think you didn’t know how to turn on a phone,” Magnus points out very gently, sheets pooling around his hips.

“I couldn’t figure out which end to talk into,” Alec says and pulls out a sweatshirt and workout pants. “Get ready, we’re going to be busy today.”

“Are you forgetting something?”

Alec looks around, eyebrow raised.

Magnus throws back his sheet pointedly and Alec’s eyes go round, alarmed.

“I sleep in the nude,” Magnus says.

“I—I’ll give you some privacy,” Alec says, and Magnus watches him retreat, ears and the back of his neck stained a pale pink. His right wing hits the doorjamb and he bounces off the side before pulling the door closed behind him.

Magnus laughs under his breath, changes into his workout clothes and slips into his running shoes. The morning is bright, golden. It’s been so long since he’s gotten a good night's sleep. Usually, after eating dinner, he gets changed, hits the clubs. But last night, he went to bed and slept better than he has in _years_.

On his way out, Alec hands him a travel mug of coffee. It’s awful, somehow both weak _and_ full of coffee grounds, but he supposes it’s the thought that counts.

He arrives at his favorite park, leaves Alec in the front and looking confused, watching the early morning runners and dogs being walked. Magnus makes a couple easy laps, then pushes himself through the last two laps, shoes slapping against the pavement, mind a pleasant blank, staticky buzz. He usually goes to the gym, but this is his favorite. Clear skies, fluffy clouds. Everything always seems to fade away when he runs, like if he just goes fast enough, he can outrun his problems.

He finishes the last lap, forcing himself to take steady breaths, even as his chest burns and his legs ache.

There’s an impromptu game of Frisbee, kids playing kickball. And in the middle of all, there’s Alec in all black, standing with his hands in his pockets like a confused vortex of happiness.

Magnus jogs up to him. He knows he looks crazy talking to himself, but fuck it, it's New York. As long as he doesn't have his dick out, no one's going to call the cops. “Haven’t you ever been to a park before?”

“It’s been a long time,” Alec says, sitting down and crossing his long legs.

“Have you ever seen happiness?” Magnus asks dryly.

“It’s been a long time.”

Magnus flops into the grass beside him, legs shaky. “Same here. You know, Catarina and I used to come to this park as kids. She was an old friend of mine.”

“Aren’t you still friends with her?”

“Well, yeah. We’re going to be friends forever, nothing’s going to change that. But she’s a nurse and about a year ago, a kid came through. They bonded, the kid didn’t have any family, so she adopted her. She’s a great mom and Madzie’s just the sweetest kid, but she’s busy now and our lives have kind of drifted apart. It sucks, but it happens.”

It happened because he let it, Magnus realizes. He should have made a bigger effort to visit her. He should have tried harder, but that’s usually the way of things. You can’t see where you’ve gone wrong and how easy it would have been to choose another path until the damage has been done.

But it’s too beautiful of a day for regrets, and Alec is next to him, feathers literally and metaphorically ruffled, looking baffled by the sheer uncomplicatedness of a day off.

“We should come to park every week,” Magnus says, dreamily, watching the clouds drift by. “Make it a tradition.”

“Yeah,” Alec says, randomly picking at a blade of grass. “Until you fall in love and my assignment’s over.”

It’s as if the sun’s gone behind a cloud, and Magnus suddenly feels cold. He keeps forgetting. This is an assignment for Alec, and as soon as Magnus falls in love, Alec’s going to fuck off to the great beyond or go bother other people and clear out their refrigerators. “Yeah, until then,” Magnus agrees, shivering.

 

\---

 

They swing by the store to pick up a few groceries, and Magnus has the dubious pleasure of seeing Alec in a grocery store full of soccer moms and the elderly. He buys the shittiest, most sugary cereal the store has just because of the way Alec holds the box and says in a soft, reverent voice, “There’s a secret prize inside. Wonder what it is?”

Afterwards, Magnus goes home to work on his dreaded novel while Alec puts away the groceries. To say that the world is waiting for his sophomore novel seems like an overstatement. It's more like a few dozen people and his friends, but it still feels like a good start. Magnus wasn’t being entirely honest with Alec earlier. He hasn’t worked on his novel in months. He has writer’s block that feels like rolling a boulder up a hill; backbreaking, soul-crushing, and the harder he wills the words to come, the more the answering blankness seems to mock him. He is Sisyphus, the mountain is his writer’s block, and the boulder is his giant, moldering turd of a novel.

“I think I’m going to write,” Magnus says, ignoring the unpleasant cramping the sentence produces in his gut.

"Good for you,” Alec replies with a weirdly proud smile. It makes Magnus feel uncomfortable, hot and cold all at once, and he retreats as quickly as he can.

So that’s how Magnus ends up cowering in his bedroom, sitting at his desk, and staring at the computer screen with beads of cold sweat running down his ass-crack. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair and taps his fingers against the desk, his coffee cooling next to him. He skims what he wrote last time. It’s so awkwardly worded, trite. He hates it all.

He deletes the last few sentences, writes another sentence, changes the sentence order around. Oh god, it’s so shitty. He can’t do this. Maybe tomorrow. He should take out the trash.

Alec’s where he left him, messing around on a laptop. He wonders what poor mundane Alec swiped it from. He tries not to be jealous that it’s a lot nicer than his own.

“Hey,” he says.

Alec looks up. “Already done? You weren’t writing long.”

“The brilliance, it comes and goes. I think I’ve done enough writing for today,” he feebly lies. He eyes the mounting piles of trash, pizza and takeout boxes in the corner. “We should probably clean.”

“Ugh,” Alec says.

“If you’re going to live here, you have to help clean.”

They have not actually discussed Alec moving in, but clearly, he has, with or without Magnus’ permission or active participation, and the thought of a homeless angel and the fact that Magnus is stupidly grateful not to be alone, are both facts that are too sad to bear examining too closely.

Alec heaves himself off the couch with a disgusted sound while Magnus grabs his dusty broom and mop.

He and Alec spend the next two hours wiping down every surface, vacuuming, making trips to take the trash out, doing an embarrassing amount of dirty laundry.

When they finish, Magnus can’t remember his apartment looking so clean. However, he feels grimy, covered with a thick layer of dust and self-pity.

“I need to get cleaned up,” he tells Alec, who’s carefully running his hands over the freshly laundered sheets on the bed.

“They smell so good,” Alec says, “and they’re so soft.”

“Yeah, that’s the chemicals,” Magnus replies and pulls his shirt off, heading towards the bathroom.

He tugs off the rest of his clothes and steps into the shower, extra hot. He washes himself off, carefully not thinking about the angel in his bedroom, currently sniffing his sheets. Magnus is an absolute fool about love, true, but he’s know when something is out of hs reach. Plenty have people have told him to dream small. He can’t afford to get attached to another person that’s just making a pit stop in his life to some greater prize.

He steps out of the shower and dries off, pulling some clean clothes on. Magnus looks in the mirror and considers styling his hair, and then thinks better of it. If Alec's just a roommate – _and he totally is_ – then Magnus has no reason to impress him.

“You think I should shower?” Alec asks, picking at the sleeve of his jacket. He has never seen Alec change clothes. Alec may be changing, and all his clothes coincidentally look exactly the same or more likely, he is simply not changing, which leads to the thought of Alec undressing, which leads to-- Magnus quickly abandons that train of thought.

“Uh,” Magnus says, swallowing loudly. “Do you know how to?” He can’t keep his voice from climbing up into a strangled falsetto as he adds, “You don't, like, need help?”

“I think I can figure it out,” Alec says. “I’ve seen plenty of mundanes shower.”

“Excuse me?” Magnus asks, gripping the edge of the counter.

“Well, you pop in to check up on someone and they might be in the middle of – you just never know, okay?”

“Have you peeped at me in the shower?” Magnus interrupts.

“Of course not,” Alec says, sounding deeply offended. “I would never do such a crass, base thing. I'm offended, sir.”

“Okay,” Magnus says, mollified. “My apologies.”

“Apology accepted,” Alec says with great dignity, pushing past Magnus and into the bathroom. The door catches and Magnus walks over to help. "It gets stuck. Turn the handle while pushing." Working together, they force it shut. Outside the bathroom, Magnus hears the shower curtain slide shut, the water turn on.

A minute later, Alec groans loudly. “Indoor plumbing,” Alec says with a gusty sigh. “When you mundanes get something right, you really get it right.”

“At least we’re of some use,” Magnus answers, leaning heavily against the door, palm flat against the shiny grain. On the other side of the thin wood, Alec is undressed, _naked_ in his shower, unless he decided to shower with his clothes on, which wouldn’t necessarily be out of character for him.

“Hey, Magnus?” Alec cheerfully calls out. “That’s a really cute tattoo on your ass.”

Magnus loses his balances and slides down the door face-first, right hand squeaking against the wood on his way down.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Angel Alec](https://twitter.com/shadowcally/status/111146796040773632) by @shadowcally  
> [Another Angel Alec](https://twitter.com/shadowcally/status/1110474992846663680) by @shadowcally  
> [Alec at the bus stop](https://twitter.com/BaneLightwood_/status/1109916083845246977) by @BaneLightwood_  
> [Fic edit](https://twitter.com/BaneLightwood_/status/1109799026260672512) by @BaneLightwood_

  
Magnus is trying on clothes for his date and just as quickly discarding them when Alec barges in. “Haven’t you heard of knocking?” He takes one look at Alec’s puzzled face. “Jesus, of course, you haven’t. What was I thinking?”  
  
The past day, Alec’s quiver has migrated to the corner of the living room, joined by a large bow. Like everything about Alec, it looks deceptively mean, tough and barbed. It’s hard to believe that such a wicked-looking weapon once made people fall in love. Still can, if Alec’s to be believed.  
  
Alec gestures at Magnus’ face. “What’s going on? Why is your face doing that?”  
  
For someone who's studied humans for thousands of years, he seems to know shockingly little about them.  
  
Magnus looks at himself in the mirror above his dresser and frowns at his reflection, tearing off his shirt and tossing it onto the bed to join the growing pile there. He needs a haircut. His jaw could be sharper, his lips more generous. He stops himself right there; wishing you were a better version of yourself is a slippery, dangerous slope. It's how you end up with flotation devices for lips and ill-advised ass implants.  
  
Magnus sighs and confesses, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a real date.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Alec says. “That’s why I’m here. You’re so terrible at it that the heavens felt bad for you.”

Magnus honestly doesn’t know how his life got like this. Here he is, standing in his bedroom, hands on his hips, and attempting to explain personal insecurity to an ancient angel. “Thank you so much for that. I’m trying to say that I’m a little out of practice is all.”  
  
Alec shrugs. “You know all about 90s TV, you have a great shower, and you have many shiny shirts,” Alec says, counting his dubious charms off on each finger. He reaches out and touches the tip of Magnus' nose, eyes warm, earnest. “What’s not to like?”  
  
It's a sweet sentiment; Magnus is beginning to suspect that beneath Alec's prickly exterior, he's a closeted romantic. Fitting for Cupid, not that Alec will admit to being the little bastard. Still, none of the things Alec finds the most appealing about him are exactly great points of personal pride for Magnus.  
  
“Plenty,” Magnus says, grabbing another shirt off the hanger. He pulls it over his arms and settles it on his shoulders, mentally critiquing the fit.  
  
Alec steps forward and buttons up the shirt, carefully lining them up and pushing the tiny white buttons through the holes. “You take too much to heart.” He sounds sad.  
  
It’s hard to explain that if enough people tell you repeatedly that you aren’t good enough, it’s impossible not to believe them. “We all do. It’s a mundane failing, I suppose. One among many."  
  
“Humans have their virtues,” Alec murmurs.  
  
“That might be the first time I haven’t heard you call us mundanes.”  
  
“On reflection, the term _mundane_ might have been a bit ungenerous.” Alec finishes up the buttons and gives Magnus' chest a little pat. His hands hover uncertainly.  
  
“It’s not like angels are that great.”  
  
“I never said we were. We’re just different, not really better or worse.”  
  
“It was implied.” Magnus has no idea why he’s arguing, just that every conversation with Alec becomes too intense. Alec’s too artless, too honest, and it inspires the same kind of honestly in Magnus and that _terrifies_ him. “You don’t have to spare my feelings. I know in the grand scheme of things that I’m nothing special.”  
  
Alec's eyebrows lower threateningly. “Who told you that?”  
  
Magnus feels a sardonic smile tug at his mouth. “Life. Repeated experiences.”

Here he goes with the uncomfortable honesty yet again. People like Magnus because he's wild and fun, not because he goes around saying what he really thinks. No one wants to hear that.  
  
"Magnus--" Alec sighs. “I wish you could see what I see. All those golden threads I told you about? People that love you, people that could love you? You have a thousand possibilities, a million, in a population of people that have a hundred, tops. In a gray world, you _glow_. You always have.”  
  
“Always?”

Alec says simply, "I’ve known you your whole life."  
  
Magnus feels his knees grow weak. They’re standing so close, close enough for Magnus to feel the crackles of energy coming off Alec in waves, for him to smell the scent of hazy ozone and sky. He licks his dry lips; his eyes feel hot, wet. “When my dad left? When my mom died and I was totally alone?”  
  
“I told you that you weren’t ever alone. No one is.”  
  
“I didn't _see_ you. I _needed_ someone.”  
  
“You weren’t my assignment then," Alec says, his voice gentle, apologetic. "I did the best I could."  
  
Angels and their goddamn rules. Magnus closes his eyes. Typical. Someone’s been watching out for him his whole life, and he just finds out about it when the memories no longer stagger him, when the pain doesn’t steal his breath. He survived his life on his own, no angelic help needed.  
  
But maybe the unseen supported helped him. Maybe Alec’s the reason he found the strength in himself to keep going. He might never know and he supposes it’s not important now. He opens his eyes and Alec’s still in front of him, but he already knew that. From the moment Magnus laid eyes on him, something in himself _knew_ Alec. Recognized him. “So, you’ve been creeping on me for a long time, huh?  
  
Alec looks at him curiously. He doesn’t get it and Magnus has to smile. Of course, he doesn’t get it.  
  
Alec says, “All those times you wished on shooting stars, did you ever wonder who was listening?”

\---

 

  
It’s a good date. Magnus likes her, but he can already tell that while there’s nothing particularly wrong with her, the spark isn’t there. What the spark is exactly, he couldn’t say, but he knows it when he feels it. It’s less love or attraction or anything deeper – those things come with time or they don’t, no way to tell immediately – but there’s a spark of possibility, an immediate recognition. _Yes, you. You might be important to me one day. Eventually, I might give you my heart._  
  
She takes a bite of her dessert.  
  
“Uh,” Magnus says, more to fill the awkward silence than anything else. They’ve talked about school, the weather. Magnus refuses to talk about his dating history, his childhood, or his work. He’s a minefield of bad tipics to bring up with someone you barely know. It's wild to think at some point, he was somehow under the impression he was good at this.  
  
“Well, this has sure been a date,” she says, setting down her fork and dabbing at her mouth.  
  
Magnus cracks a smile. She’s lovely, actually. And in another life, in other circumstances, he might be tempted to try to make something of it. But he’s learned a thing or two about forcing something that isn’t there. Since that painful lesson isn’t good for anything else, he might as well count it as personal growth. “Yeah, I think this should be our only date.”  
  
“I’m in total agreement,” she says, looking relieved. Now that this _isn’t_ a date, the talk comes easily. She’s a pleasant but band stranger, an entertaining enough way to pass the evening,  
  
As he waits for her to finish her dessert, he thinks, wistfully, of his apartment. His comfy couch where there’s a grouchy angel doing god only knows what. He might be selling Magnus to the highest bidder or as just as easily eating raw potatoes while watching the worst of 90’s television, but either way, it would be _interesting_.  
  
More than that, he kind of likes Alec. Alec is funny, a little bit mean, haughty, incredibly kind, and stupid in all of the wrong ways, but--  
  
It strikes him suddenly that in one of the fanciest restaurants in the city, on a date with a beautiful woman, Magnus finds that he just wants to go home.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
When he gets home, Alec is on his couch. Miraculously the TV is off, but the box of cereal and a bowl is on the coffee table, and Alec has a shiny sheriff badge clipped to his shirt declaring him #1 deputy.  
  
Ah, so he found the prize in the cereal.  
  
Magnus takes a minute to glance down at him cramped on the couch like an oversized letter Z smooshed onto a couch at least two feet too small. It can’t be comfortable.  
  
Magnus touches his shoulder, mind already made up. At his touch, Alec’s eyes open slowly, lids shiny and heavy, eyes very green in the dim light filtering through the windows.  
  
Alec’s wings twitch and shiver as Alec blinks sleepily awake. “Magnus?” Alec says, voice sleep-thick. “Your date already over?”  
  
Magnus touches his cheek, surprised to feel stubble. He’s never seen Alec shave, but he supposes angels do all kinds of things he never sees. Change clothes, cry, _kiss_. “It was a bust. She’s nice, but there’s no chemistry.”  
  
“A lot of the threads are just possibilities. Doesn’t mean the circumstances are right. Or that you’re both open to love,” Alec explains muzzily. He presses his cheek into Magnus’ hand, eyes still cloudy with sleep.  
  
Magnus knows, _fuck_ , he knows that he’s making a bad decision, but when has that ever stopped him before?  
  
“Come on,” Magnus says gruffly.  
  
“What?” Alec asks, blinking awake,  
  
“Come on. You can sleep in here,” he says, gesturing into the darkness of his bedroom.  
  
“You can’t sleep on this couch,” Alec protests, “I don’t even technically need to sleep.”  
  
“Who said anything about me sleeping on that pile of shit?” Magnus asks. “We’re two grown men, kind of. We should be able to share a bed with nothing crazy happening.”  
  
It’s such an enormous lie, Magnus nearly chokes on it.  
  
Still, Alec is so guileless, so beautifully innocent and wonderfully dumb, that he buys it without question.  
  
“It’ll be okay,” Alec agrees. He has pillow creases on his cheek, his lips are chapped and rough. He looks so beautiful and Magnus’ heart clenches tight. “You know,” Alec says, voice hushed. “I think I had a dream.”  
  
“Oh yeah? What did you dream about?”  
  
“I don’t really remember, it’s already fading. But I think I dreamed about you.”  
  
Magnus swallows and pulls his hand away. “Time for bed.”  
  
Alec gets up off the couch. On the cushion, there’s a single white feather.  
  
Alec follows him into the bedroom and Magnus pushes back the covers, trying not to think about how he’s royally fucked himself yet again. He grabs an old pair of seldom-used pajamas out of the bottom drawer of his dresser, trying not to pay attention to Alec, who’s pulling off his shirt. “How do you get around the wings?” Magnus asks.  
  
Alec pauses, shirt around his neck. He has chest hair. Magnus’ palms go sweaty, he feels like he might die.  
  
“They sort of exist out of time? I exist between worlds. That’s why I don’t age, don’t need to sleep or eat.”  
  
“Yet, you’re getting ready for bed,” Magnus points out.  
  
“Didn’t say I couldn’t,” Alec replies, "just that I can."  
  
Magnus is well aware Alec can. He has empty cabinets and a refrigerator to attest to that fact. “Could you age if you wanted to?”  
  
“It’s kind of a funny story? I’m not sure. I can’t really exist fully in your world without—well, doesn’t matter. But I can participate if something has to do with a mission. Otherwise, I can’t really interact.”  
  
Watching eons pass alone? Watching humans be born and die in the blink of an eye? Countless wars, and joy, and tragedy, an endless cycle that repeats itself, all without being able to touch or be touched? It’s worse than boring, it’s _tragic_. No wonder he caught Alec's eye. It's less that Magnus glows, but more that Alec's world is so incredibly gray.  
  
“That sounds lonely.”  
  
Alec pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it in the corner. “Yeah, I guess it’s not that funny. Never really thought about it.”  
  
He’s lying. Magnus doesn’t know how he knows, but he does. It seems like he’s not the only one that can’t face some harsh truths.  
  
Magnus takes his pajamas and pads into the bathroom where he washes off his eye makeup. He only ever wears it when out or when he needs an extra layer between himself and the world. It’s not a defense, exactly, but it does make him feel better. Without it, he looks younger, more vulnerable, and he hates that. Alec might be the only person currently in his life that’s seen him without it.  
  
He shucks off his date clothes and tosses them over the shower curtain rod and pulls on his pajamas before brushing his teeth and flossing.  
  
On impulse, he refreshes his cologne. Nothing wrong with smelling nice to sleep, is there?  
  
He heads back to the bedroom, turning off lights on his way and doublechecking that the front door is locked. His bedroom is illuminated by a single bedside lamp. Alec is already in bed, facing Magnus’ side of the bed, chest bare, sheets pulled up over his waist, his wings tight against his back.  
  
Magnus slips in next to him, praying that Alec isn’t naked under the covers.  
  
Magnus reaches over to turn off the lamp when he notices Alec’s sheriff badge carefully placed on the nightstand, and Magnus has to bite his lip. The light goes out with a click.  
  
Magnus settles in bed, trying to get comfortable. The sounds of sheets in the dark, the mattress springs sqeaking, the whisper-soft rustles of feathers. Alec’s right there, fingers splayed in the space between them.  
  
His bed isn’t big enough for a grown man and an angel with 6ft wings, apparently. Magnus is hoving at the edge of his bed, fingers curled over the side of the mattress and hanging on for dear life. He hears Alec sigh, feels the warm gust of his breath against the back of his neck. “Come here,” Alec says. “That can’t be comfortable.”  
  
Magnus forces himself to let go and relax. To this suprise, Alec's arm wraps around him, hand resting lightly on the flat of his belly. This is not how bros bedshare. He settles back into the warm curve of Alec’s body, where he feels something long and hard poking his left ass-cheek.  
  
Magnus goes very still and coughs delicately. Alec said he was anatomically correct; he didn’t say he was fucking _blessed_.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Alec asks.  
  
“Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me,” Magnus asks weakly. He makes stupid jokes and awful innuendos when he’s terrified of the answer. It means he’s always a little smarmy and nearly always terrified.  
  
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” Alec says cheerfully, rolling over. He reaches down beneath the sheets and pulls out a banana. Magnus watches in silent horror as Alec carefully peels his banana and takes a bite.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
_The room is dark. Cheesy music plays in the background. Inexplicably, Alec has a thick mustache._  
  
_“Come here often, cowboy?”_  
  
_Magnus looks down at himself and realizes he’s wearing chaps and a, frankly, overly generous codpiece. His subconscious is all over the place._  
  
_Overhead, strobe lights flash and the floor trembles and vibrates with a rhythmic, deep bass._  
  
_Thumpa-Thumpa-Thumpa_  
  
_Alec is wearing leather pants, his wings practically glowing in the black light. Between the two of them, they look like they’re about to perform the YMCA for an absolutely filthy party._  
  
_“Oh my god,” Magnus breathes._  
  
_“I’m a very innocent angel,” Alec says, “but I have urges.”_  
  
_Magnus licks his lips and tastes the slick sweetness of lipgloss. “T-tell me about them.”_  
  
_Alec leans close. “You’re so handsome and well-endowed and such a good writer, I want you to pop my--”_  
  
  
Magnus jolts awake, covered in a cold sweat. Next to him, Alec is sleeping with his wings unfurled, half-hanging off the bed. His hair is ruffled and he smacks his lips. “Come out with your hands up,” he mutters. “I’m the sheriff, but you can call me Sheriff Badass.”  
  
With the morning light framing him, Alec could be a classical painting: clueless angel in repose. Magnus studies him. He looks impossibly young, innocent, miles away from the depraved imaginings of Magnus’ pervy mind and even further from the reluctant guardian of mundanity he tried to present when they first met.  
  
He reaches out and his hand hovers over Alec’s back, the miles of bare skin.  
  
Magnus makes a trembling fist as he jerks his arm back. This always happens to him -- he’s too much, he falls too quick and hard. He _wants_ too badly. He cares about people more than they ever care about him. And now he’s fallen in love with a literal goddamn angel.  
  
He’s so fucking stupid.  
  
In his mind's eye, dream!Alec winks, adjusts his construction hat, and says, “ _I have urges_.”  
  
“Oh, I’m going straight to hell,” Magnus says, scraping a tired hand through his hair.

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

“I’ve got you another date,” Alec yells out from the bathroom. Unthinkingly, Magnus checks the door with his hip, knocking it open. Alec is standing in front of the foggy bathroom mirror, jaw covered with thick, white shaving cream. He’s wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips and Magnus’ eyes fall to Alec’s chest, the thatch of hair there, the sharp cut of his hipbones. On his chest, right over his heart, there’s another tattoo-- this one complicated with a little curling tail at the bottom. It looks different than his others; it’s faded, looks more like an old scar. Alec raps sharply on the counter to get his attention. “Are you paying attention to me?”

 _Nipples_ , Magnus thinks a little hysterically. Alec is just walking around, flashing those dangerous things. How irresponsible of him. He clears his throat. “Ah, yes. Tell me more.”

Alec roughly drags the razor across his cheek and Magnus winces. He’s going to have ingrown hairs and hella razor burn.

“I think you’ll like him, but I have to warn you--”

“What?” Magnus asks suspiciously, leaning against the counter.

“You’re going to have to call him Susan in bed.”

“Have you lost your damn mind?” Magnus yells.

“A deal-breaker, as the kids say?” His razor makes another tortured trek across his face. “Oh well, back to the drawing board. I do have another option,” Alec says, sounding reluctant.

“Give me that,” Magnus says, snatching the razor from Alec’s hand. He’s going to accidentally shave his attractive nose off. Magnus hooks two fingers beneath Alec’s chin, tilting his face back.

“So, this guy is ex-military and now he’s a social worker.”

Magnus pulls the razor down Alec’s cheek, the loud scratch filling the tiny bathroom. He rinses the razor off, the shaving cream blooming in the water like a blooming cloud across the surface of the water. He’s working the razor down Alec’s neck, the skin warm beneath his fingers. It’s shockingly intimate.

“I think you like strong men that help others,” Alec continues, totally fucking oblivious. “Plus, tall. You like ‘em tall.”

The razor clatters in the sink, tumbling from Magnus’ numb fingers. “I-I don’t care about that, why would you say something so crazy?”

“I--” Alec says, looking confused. “Your dating history?”

“Oh,” Magnus says, clutching his chest. He leaves little white imprints of shaving cream over his heart.

“I think this is a good mate for you.”

Mating, _Jesus_. Aside from the unbearably awkward wording, it’s even more awkward to explain to Alec that the only one he’s particularly interested in mating with is standing in front of him, mostly naked.

“Sounds great,” Magnus says weakly.

Alec takes Magnus’ hand and runs it down his face. “All good?”

“Yeah,” Manus says softly. “Nearly perfect.”

Once Alec leaves the bathroom, Magnus wipes the fog off the mirror and stares at himself. His eyes look wide, haunted, afraid. He’s fallen in love with his guardian angel, who is trying to set him up with someone else so he can fuck off to who knows where. “Magnus Bane,” he mutters to himself, “You are totally out of control.”

There’s only one thing to be done.

He slides his phone out of his pocket and calls Catarina.

 

\---

 

  
The sun is shining bright and lovely. Catarina’s sitting at a table on the patio and Magnus goes inside to the counter and order, then joins Catarina outside.

Her face is like an old dream; beloved, never unfamiliar. They grew up together. Just being in her presence calms something inside of himself. Why had he ever let them drift apart? But like all the best relationships, they pick back up just where they left off.

Out of everyone in his life, she knows him better than most. Maybe that’s why he’d pushed her away – she saw through his bullshit and might actually call him on it. But now he has a nosy, boundary-less angel for that. Self-examination is the scariest thing of all. There’s no way to describe the fear of looking at yourself and realizing you don’t like anything you see.

“Ah, Madzie couldn’t make it?”

“She’s in school, Magnus,” Catarina says.

The fact that he would know that if he had bothered keeping up with either of them lies between them, unsaid.

“It’s really good to see you. I was surprised you called," she says. Beneath her gently chiding tone, Magnus can see the hurt.

“I’m sorry it’s been so long,” Magnus says, playing with the drops of condensation on his drink. “I kept meaning to call and then things kept coming up.”

“What was his name?” Catarina asks.

Magnus feels the back of his neck grow hot. “It’s not like that. I got--” miserable, self-pitying, spiraling “--busy,” he finishes lamely.

Catarina looks at him appraisingly and Magnus resists the urge to squirm.

She takes a sip of her drink. “The phone works both ways, I suppose.”

“Yeah, but who knows if I would have answered.” Magnus tries his drink; it’s cool and sweet.

She reaches forward and plucks a small feather out of his hair. “You plucking chickens in your spare time?”

She hands it to him. Magnus holds it pinched in-between his fingers and rolls it around by the quill curiously. Magnus thinks about standing too close to Alec in a steamy bathroom, dragging a razor down his cheeks, and avoiding looking into Alec’s incredible eyes. “Something like that,” Magnus wheezes.

Catarina leans back in her chair, suddenly amused.

“What?” Magnus asks.

“There _is_ someone.”

“He’s not really--”

“I knew it!”

“We’re not dating, we’re just friends. Roommates.”

Catarina’s eyebrows make a valiant attempt to crawl into her hairline. “He lives with you, this friend?”

“More like crashing on my couch, Well, actually my bed--”

“You’re sleeping with him?” Catarina laughs loudly. God, he’s missed her laugh. “You’re living together and sleeping together and you’re not dating.”

It all sounds very damning when put that way.

Magnus laughs nervously. He probably shouldn’t tell her about the spooning.

“I can’t believe Magnus Bane, commitment-phobe, has finally settled down.”

“Hey,” Magnus protests weakly. It’s not that he’s never had the desire to settle down; it’s that no one has ever particularly wanted to settle down with him. But Catarina lets him pretend otherwise because his version hurts a little less. It’s what you do for friends. “I’m kind of – he’s not really suitable.”

“Magnus Bane, is he married," she asks flatly. It's the voice that usually preceeds a thorough ass-kicking.

“Fuck, _no_. He unironically refers to sex as mating, what do you think?”

“I think you’re crazy about him. Your face gets all--” she gestures in Magnus’ direction, making a swishing motion with her hands “--red and sweaty when you talk about him.”

“It’s kind of one-sided,” Magnus says, slurping his drink miserably.

“Ah.” Catarina makes a sympathetic noise. “It’s probably not a great idea to keep sleeping with him. Maybe you need some time and space to figure out your feelings?”

Magnus watches a few pedestrians pass. That’s the thing he loves and hates about New York: everyone’s in a rush to get somewhere, even if they don’t know particularly where. Whatever this tenuous thing is with Alec, he’s gotten there at the speed of light and he’s trying to make sense of feelings that are as fragile as the first blooms after a long, hard winter.

“I just think,” Catarina says, “that if it’s meant to be, it’ll happen. You can’t force feelings in yourself or him. Until then, keep doing your thing. Your life can't revolve around a guy.”

She’s right, goddamnit.

Magnus quickly changes the subject. “Boy, this drink sure is good.”

Because she’s kind, she lets him. “Your old favorite? Iced caramel macchiato?”

Magnus grins at her. “Guess you know me.”

“Some things don’t ever change.”

“Hey, I’m always around for babysitting duty?”

“I just might have to take you up on that,” Catarina says, leaning forward. Just like old times. Her hand is laying palm-up on the table and impulsively, Magnus takes it, squeezing her smaller hand in his. She blinks up at him, surprised but pleased.

“So how’s Madzie doing in school?”

Catarina’s face lights up as she launches into a cute story.

Cat being his best friend; how delicious a caramel macchiato is on a hot day; the uncomplicated beauty of an afternoon spent reconnecting with a dear friend. No, some things don’t change, Magnus thinks, one hand wrapped up tightly with Cat’s, the other clutching one fluffy feather protectively.

But some things do.

 

 ---

 

Two night later, Magnus heaves the door front door open and storms through. Alec’s on the couch, eating tacos and watching Seinfeld.

He stops short. “Where did you—never mind.”

“Date already over?” he asks, eyebrows raised. He has such nice eyebrows, Magnus thinks, feeling gross and hopeless.

Alec glances back at the TV. Kramer’s on the screen, ranting about pudding skins. “I know it’s supposed to be like, ironic, but I just don’t think it’s funny. They’re all really self-absorbed.”

“That’s the point,’ Magnus says, distracted by studying the shape of Alec’s upper lip. It’s overly generous, lends him a sensuous softness in a terribly masculine face.

Which he’s currently stuffing full of tacos.

“So, tell me about your date.”

And suddenly, Magnus is reminded that he’s fucking furious. He says, voice dangerously soft, “He asked me how I feel about watersports.”

“Neat. Like water balloons?”

“No,” Magnus says, measured. “Not like that at all.”

“Not a fan, I take it?” An errant drop of sauce beads up and slips down Alec’s hand, running down to his wrist, and Alec lowers his head to lick it off. What a disgusting, sexy habit.

“No, especially not when men bring it up before the appetizer even arrives.”

“Maybe the problem's the venue? Maybe I shouldn’t be setting you up in restaurants. Too much time to talk.”

“I cannot possibly believe that’s what you’ve gleaned from this conversation,” Magnus says flatly.

“I have eight more dates set up,” Alec sappily replies.

“Great,” Magnus says and slumps down on the couch next to Alec. He said he would try to fall in love, promised Alec, even. Promised himself. It’s no one’s fault that in true fucky Magnus-style, he’s fallen in love with the entirely wrong person.

He grabs Alec’s wrist, pulls the taco towards his mouth, and takes a large bite.

“That was mine,” Alec says mildly.

“You owe me,” Magnus says, chewing. “I didn’t even get an appetizer, you beast.”

“Apologies for the watersports,” Alec says, handing him the rest of the taco.

If someone had told him a month ago that he would be talking to an angel in his living room while sharing a taco, he would have called them a liar, then possibly the cops.

But here he is.

He’s kind of writing again, dating, getting back on that proverbial horse – all terrifying prospects. And he finds that it doesn’t feel scary at all. And if it just leaves him feeling a little tight in the chest each time he leaves Alec to go on a date, then Catarina’s right. It’ll pass. It _has_ to pass.

“We’re watching something else,” Alec says.

“Sure,” Magnus says, sighing. Alec shifts his wings, makes room for Magnus next to him, stretching one wing out so that Magnus has no choice but to sit nestled inside of it, the graceful crest resting over him like a warm, living blanket. “Is this comfortable for you? It seems really uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine,” Alec says, not looking away from the TV screen.

Magnus pulls his legs up and tucks them beneath him, Alec’s wing resting on top of his shoulders, sheltering him.

“Have you seen Frasier?” Magnus asks, yawning. He’s tired and it’s not even nine pm. Going to bed early and getting up just as early to work out – all this healthy living is no good for him.

“No.”

“Good, you’ll hate it,” Magnus says, chuckling and settling in.

Later that night, while Alec is in the bathroom getting ready for bed, Magnus changes the sheets. They smell like him: warm sandalwood shampoo, cologne that he foolishly applied thinking it would impress Alec. But beneath that, something that smells like the sky after a heavy rain, green and earthy like Alec’s eyes when he first wakes up in the morning.

It’s Alec, of course. His sheets smell like Alec all over.

Magnus pulls the top sheet up, wads it up between his hands and presses his face into them, inhaling deeply. If he wraps them around himself, it would be like being wrapped in Alec’s arms again--

He abruptly drops the sheets and kicks them into the corner of the room, horrified at himself.

He’s in so much fucking trouble.

 

\---

 

  
At work, Raphael catches him daydreaming on his fifteen-minute break. Magnus is stirring coffee, thinking about his novel. After writing a novel about a disaffected twenty-something he thought he’d follow up with a story about an equally disaffected thirty-something, but now he doesn’t think so.

He thinks his story is going to be about love.

“Hey,” Raphael says. He’s a young man who thinks this is a temp job. Funny thing is, that’s what Magnus thought when he started, too.

The years have a habit of passing too quickly, even the unhappy ones.

“Sorry,” Magnus says, dropping the spoon in the sink. It echoes in the stainless steel with a loud clang. “You caught me by surprise.”

“Planning the next great American novel?”  Raphael asks. Once, Magnus went out with the whole office and got smashingly drunk and confessed he was a secret semi-famous author to him. It's created a weird semi-bond between them where none should reasonably exist. They have nothing in common other than a shared loathing for an awful job.

"I’d settle for a mediocre one,” Magnus says. He takes a sip of his coffee. It’s predictably terrible. Above them, the fluorescent light flickers off and on.

 

 ---

 

He arrives home from work with bags of groceries and tries not to think about how nice and domestic this all feels. It can’t last, but he should enjoy it while he can.

In his bedroom, he hears Alec talking in low tones. “That’s not going to happen.”

Magnus assumes Alec’s talking on the phone until he spies Alec’s phone sitting on the coffee table. He makes his way across the apartment curiously and presses his ear to the door. It’s undignified and totally beneath him, but every time he thinks he’s scraped the absolute bottom, he finds new and fun depths. He hears someone with a deep voice respond, “You need to be careful, brother.”

“I know what I’m doing, Jace.”

“This is the first time you’ve--”

“You and Iz need to trust me.”

Brother? Curiouser and curiouser. Magnus leans forward again just as the cursed floor creeks beneath his foot. The conversation abruptly stops and Alec opens the door before Magnus has a chance to come up with a valid reason to be crouched by his bedroom door like an absolute nutcase.

“There’s a bit of dirt on the floor,” Magnus says lamely. He doesn’t even have a broom and dustpan, for god sakes. What did Magnus think he was going to do, take a sample and study it like a crime scene? Though it kind of is a crime scene, in a way. This is definitely the place where Magnus’ dignity died.

But Alec doesn’t even seem to notice, raking a hand through his hair distractedly. Magnus peers around him into the bedroom; it’s empty.

Alec is wearing a bright blue button-down shirt that Magnus has never seen before. He's surprised to find that he isn’t even slightly curious where it came from. After this, he’s done questioning the hows and whys of Alec and is just accepting his avalanche of weirdness as it comes. It seems easier and probably infinitely more elegant that way.

“Come on, we’re making dinner,” Magnus says, heading back to the front door where he left his grocery bags. “Man can’t live on breakfast cereal alone.”

“I’m not--”

“I know, I know, a celestial being and all. If you’re going to eat all the food in my apartment, it might as well be good food.”

It’s been a long time since he’s bothered cooking, but he picked up enough to make baked chicken and steamed vegetables. He pulls out the chicken, the eggs, some vegetables, and his favorite set of knives.

“Have you ever chopped an onion?”

“I’m familiar with a knife,” Alec says. He unbuttons his shirt sleeves and casually rolls them up as Magnus valiant tries not to choke at the sight of his forearms.

“They’re really slippery.”

“I think I can manage,” Alec says, taking the biggest knife out of the drawer and making some crazy motions towards the onion.

“You can’t scare it into little diced pieces.”

“I’ve wielded a sword blazing with heavenly fire,” Alec says, sounding frustrated. The onion rolls away from him and lands on the floor with a sad plop.

“That’s great,” Magnus says. “But this requires less force and a little more finesse.” He picks the onion up and rinses it off.

Alec is all force, really. He’s the one that thought the best way to get Magnus to open himself up to the possibility of love was to yell at him in the middle of Madison Avenue.

“Okay, show me.” Alec huffs, picks up the onion and hands it to Magnus, looking aggrieved. Heaven’s finest, defeated by a dirty onion bulb.

Magnus sets the onion back on the chopping board, folds his hands over Alec, and holds his wrist, guiding his hands. He makes a careful perpendicular slice across the fragile skin. “It’s easy, see?”

Alec turns his head and looks back at him. “Everything’s easier with practice.”

"It's just an onion."

“No, really. Did you think I was always good at archery?”

Magnus shakes his head. He’d honestly assumed someone increasingly cupid-like was born with the ability.

“I practiced. Lots of weird pairings for a while.”

“Like a dude with a goat?”

“Who told you?” Alec hisses. “Did Jace--”

“It was a joke,” Magnus assures him.

“Ah, of course.” Alec clears his throat and turns back to the onion. It really doesn't require the kind of angry attention he's paying to it. “If it’s not real, the feelings fade. I can only nudge people in the right direction.”

Magnus doesn’t know if he should be asking. It feels intrusive, but they seemed to have passed intrusive up five stops ago on this bus straight to crazytown. “Hey, have you ever dated anyone?”

“I’ve never felt the need to.”

“Then how do you make pairings? Er, mates.”

“You said I was creepy every time I used that word.” He brushes the edges off the board, slices the onion in half and removes the skin, exposing the heart.

“And I stand by that, but the question is still valid.”

Alec shrugs uncomfortably. “Those that can’t do, teach, I guess.”

“But how do you _know_?” Magnus presses.

“I don’t. I saw the connections, but I got it wrong as often as I got it right. Why do you think I don’t do it anymore?”

“Anymore? I knew you were Cupid, you lying asshole!”

“Maybe at one time that’s who I was, but I’m not anymore," Alec protests. "I see no reason for it."

“I don't know," Magnus says doubtfully, leaning against the counter. "Divorce rate is at 50%, the world has been at peace 248 days total—that’s less than 8% of recorded history. Seems like the world could use a little more love.”

Alec tosses the knife down. He points to the inky dark swirls on his forearm. “What do you think these runes mean, Magnus? Why do you think they work?”

“I haven’t given it much thought,” Magnus admits.

“They work because we believe they do. There is great power in belief.” He looks away and Magnus studies his profile. This painting would be called _angel: tired, defeated_. “People stopped believing in me, so I stopped believing in them.”

Alec picks up the knife again and begins chopping. The cuts are slow, but even and sure. He’s getting better.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

Alec hums.

“Do angels die?”

The chopping sounds still. Magnus watches one lonely feather drift to the ground as the silence stretches. “We eventually fade," he finally says. "When we're exhausted, when we have nothing left to offer the world, we fade away. It usually takes centuries."

Magnus thinks back to the first morning he met Alec, saw him in front of the window, early morning sunlight streaming through his body.

This life is wearing on him, Magnus realizes. War, violence, watching people fall in and out of love, watching people be unkind to each other. Wash, rinse, repeat. Alec’s existence is wearing him down. Maybe Alec doesn’t see it yet, accepting assignment after assignment, but Magnus sees the toll it’s taking on him. He’ll probably still outlive Magnus by a few centuries, but his sun is setting.

Magnus’ body suddenly feels so heavy. He blindly reaches out towards Alec, who turns towards him. “Hey--”

“It’s the onions,” he lies, rubbing at his eyes. “Damn. They get me every time.”

“I see,” Alec says. But he doesn’t, not really. He doesn’t see at all.

 _Please stay with me_ , Magnus thinks, leaning against Alec’s side, hiding his face. He rests his head against Alec’s shoulder. There’s a rune there, too. He doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t know what half of the marks that litter Alec’s body do, but he desperately wants to. He wants to know everything about Alec, even if it pains them both to have it known.

Magnus has never had the type of relationship that he's run towards the sharp edge of a knife instead of away. This is where he usually cuts and runs, but not this time. Like running in the park under the bright sun of a cloudless Saturday morning, this is a good pain. It’s the pain of opening your heart to another person and asking them to do the same.

Magnus asks, “If you don’t believe in love anymore, then why are you here? Why did you pick me?”

“It was an assignment,” Alec says. “Magnus, love isn’t a science as much as I’d like it to be. I’ve accepted that.”

“No,” Magnus agrees ruefully. “It isn’t." He pulls the chicken out of the bag and a pan from the cabinet and nudges both over towards Alec. "Single layer."

“But I’m glad I got assigned to you,” Alec says. He grabs the chicken and opens the package, arranging the pieces in the shallow baking pan. His wings give a revulsed little shudder.

"What?” Magnus asks, lifting his head and looking at Alec.

Alec shrugs uneasily.

“What?” Magnus repeats.

“This feels wrong,” Alec says. In his hand, he’s holding up a tiny little twisted chicken wing.

Magnus blinks, trying to figure out what he means and then he stares at Alec’s large, swooping wings.

“It’s like cannibalism,” Alec says in a small voice.

Magnus can’t help it, he laughs. He laughs, holding himself up on the counter, then gives up until he falls to the floor.

“Hey,” Alec protests. Then he’s laughing too. He tosses the chicken wing back into the pan and sits on the floor next to Magnus.

Magnus wipes his eyes. “We can order in.”

“I would be grateful.”

Magnus stretches out on the cool tile, body still weak from laughter. They knocked over the cutting board and tiny pieces of onion liiters the floor between them. They're both probably going to get salmonella poisoning. Nothing is perfect. Life is messy and real, but for this moment, totally supsended in time, he's with Alec. And he's grateful for it.

His eyes meet Alec's. “Hey,” Magnus says softly.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re here, too.”


	6. Chapter 6

  
The movie is loud. He guesses Alec set it up purposefully that way so that he couldn’t actually make conversation with his date, not that he’s complaining. They’ve barely said twenty words to each other and Magnus feels like that’s already too much.

When they were in line picking up the tickets that Alec preordered, Magnus asked if they could share an extra large tub of popcorn, he was literally starving.

“You do know that’s not what literally means, don’t you?”

“Oh good,” Magnus said, voice drier than the Sahara, “you’re one of those people.” Where did Alec find these shitty dates? Pedants-and-weirdos.com?

His date – Larry – scratched his beard awkwardly.

Magnus is not a fan of beards, but if Alec grew a beard, Magnus suspects he would be just fine with them. He wonders what Alec is doing. He knows he doesn’t spend all his time holed up in Magnus’ tiny apartment and eating a heart attack in a box, but Alec’s never been anywhere else when Magnus gets home from a date or work.

Alec might just be hurrying home to be there when Magnus gets home and he doesn’t know what to do with that thought.

On the screen, a woman dies terribly and violently.

“The special effects budget was $186 million,” Larry whispers obnoxiously loudly.

 _Hey, Larry, I don’t give a fuck_ , Magnus thinks.

“All the better to see people get their faces ripped off,” Magnus replies charitably. Larry tips the popcorn tub towards him and Magnus passes.

“Your loss,” Larry mutters.

“I’ll live,” Magnus says, which is more than he can say for everyone on the screen. Magnus winces again. Why the hell had Alec decided an incredibly violent zombie movie was the best place for a first date?”

“Hey, that’s a really nice shirt,” Larry says, eating his popcorn. He suggestively licks each finger and Magnus gags delicately into his fist.

“So, how do you feel about dressing up?” Larry asks, leaning close. The man behind him kicks his chair in irritation. Larry ignores him and prods Magnus roughly in the shoulder. Magnus discreetly checks his watch. Only – holy shit, 3 more hours to go.

“Getting dressed up nice to go out?” Magnus finally whispers desperately back,

“Uh, yes, but with like, fur?”

“On coats?” Magnus asks.

“Yeah, but more all over, like furry suits.”

“I’m sorry,” Magnus says faintly, “my apartment just caught fire and I should probably check on the damage.”

He doesn’t even look back as he runs out of the darkened movie theatre.

 

\---

 

“You asshole,” Magnus yells, storming through the door.

“Date already over?” Alec is camped out on his couch, eating another bowl of cereal.

“Shockingly, when he started talking about being a furry, I lost my appetite.” Magnus holds up a hand. “And before you ask, when he says he likes fun and fur, he’s not a dog lover. Or actually, he might like them a little _too_ much.”

Alec opens his mouth, but Magnus cuts him off again. “Please don’t ask.”

Magnus throws himself onto the couch beside Alec. He realizes he’s being overly-dramatic but he doesn’t care. Larry had a comb-over.

“Sorry,” Alec says.

“S’okay,” Magnus mumbles while Alec goes back to watching TV.

Alec’s wearing the shirt he wore yesterday, slightly wrinkled, and eating cereal again. His badge is clipped to his pants pocket. His hair is rumpled, sticking out at odd angles. He must have been sleeping earlier, maybe dreaming.

Magnus feels something bloom in his chest, warm and tender. He wonders what Alec dreams about.

Alec wordlessly holds out the spoon and after a brief hesitation, Magnus leans forward and takes a bite. It’s overly sweet, the milk is stained blue, and it coats his teeth. It tastes like every crappy cereal he used to eat as a kid and he remembers this one in particular. It reminds him of early Saturday mornings, camped out too close to the TV and watching cartoons with the volume down low, letting his mom sleep in on one of her rare days off from work.

It reminds him of a simpler time, back before he thought peace was a thing that could be lost, back when he thought the monsters on the screen were scarier than anything the real world had to offer. He was wrong on both counts.

“What do you think? I think it might be my new favorite,” Alec says, watching him curiously.

Magnus blinks, realizing his eyes have fallen closed. When he opens them, his eyes are damp. It’s a sad memory, but it’s still a good one. “I think this might be my favorite one yet,” Magnus says, voice raspy.

Alec’s leaning back, looking thoughtful. “Okay, one last date. Give me one more chance. I think you’ll like this woman. I do not believe her to be a sexual deviant.”

It’s delivered neutrally, too casual for the sheer amount of bullshit he’s put Magnus through. A great and terrible thought occurs to Magnus. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Now, why would I do that?” Alec blinks owlishly, the picture of innocence.

Magnus is flabbergasted. He’s a writer, for god’s sake, and this plot twist is low-hanging fruit. How could he not have seen it before? Alec’s all, _Ooh la, I’m so innocent_ all the while talking about the use of irony on _Seinfeld_. He’s not stupid _at all_. Stupid like a _fox_.

“Are you even an angel?” Magnus demands.

“Excuse me?” Alec asks, his wings fluttering indignantly. A handful of feathers go flying and Magnus watches the delicate arcs they make in the air before landing on the floor.

Magnus turns to look at Alec searchingly. For every new thing he learns, there are gaping mysteries. He feels like even with a lifetime, he might not learn those mysteries. And he doesn’t have a lifetime.

He has until— _oh_. They have until he falls in love, then Alec has to leave. Then Alec won’t be able to eat, or watch shitty 90’s TV, or sleep all day like a lazy angelic asshole.

Alec’s ears are bright red, a blush creeping up his lovely neck.

Magnus gets it now. Everything’s going to be okay because the only person Magnus is in love with doesn’t understand how to connect to WiFi and neither of those facts seem to be changing anytime soon. The knowledge makes him anxious, exhilarated, and grateful all at once. Falling in love is exciting, scary. It reminds him that he’s not broken in this particular way quite yet. Even impossible love means that he’s still capable of it.

“You’re such a dope,” Magnus says, mollified. He leans back against Alec and as always, Alec makes room for him, rearranges himself, carves out space to fit Magnus in.

“You're going to see him again?”

“Fuck no,” Magnus says, “but you already knew that.”

“Good,” Alec says, looking away. Magnus doesn’t miss the slight upturn of Alec’s lips. “That’s really good.”

  
\---

  
Magnus grabs lunch with Catarina on his break from work. It’s a quick, miserable affair. He keeps having to look at his watch to make sure he doesn’t possibly clock back in a minute late. Being a peon in a large corporation is frequently a humiliating, dehumanizing affair.

“So, your problem persists?” Her scrubs are rumpled, nametag hanging askew.

“I don’t know what to do,” Magnus confesses, wiping at his mouth with a crumpled napkin. “I keep thinking if I give it time, the feelings might go away. I don’t know if I want them to anymore.”

Isn’t that what Alec said? That if the connection isn’t real or even possible, it fades? What does it mean if the feelings keep growing?

“Hate to break it to you, but love doesn’t really work like that.”

God, doesn't he just know? He's beginning to see why Alec's spent the past millennia getting hopelessly disillusioned. Life would be so much easier if he could skip past the messy parts and to the good bits. Fast-forwarding past everything that makes him uncomfortable or sad or scared, but then what would be the point of the happy parts? Would a goofy kids' cereal taste as bright and sweet if it wasn't bracketed by darker times? Magnus doesn't really know. There's no glamour in suffering, but perhaps we appreciate the shining moments for the darkness.

She jams the last 75% of the hotdog in her mouth and chews rapidly. Magnus gets indigestion just watching her eat.

“How do you do that?” Magnus asks.

“Nurse,” she says, tapping her crooked name tag. “I’m used to eating whole meals in under five minutes. Also, mom.”

“Ah,” Magnus says. He’s not either, so he couldn’t possibly compare. The only thing he’s ever nursed is a hangover. But he has spent the least few years working for a big fucking baby, so he knows about scarfing down food in precious stolen moments.

“Hey, work going okay?” he asks, touching her arm. She has dark circles under her eyes.

She gives him a tired smile. “It’s okay Lost a patient. Always sucks.”

She doesn’t like to talk about the losses.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Just you being here with me, it’s enough,” she says.

So, Magnus just stands with her for the last minutes they have on their break.

On his way back to work, he passes a construction site, sees a flyer and he pulls it off the boarded entrance. Empire State Fair, beginning today. He carefully folds up the paper and tucks it into his pocket.

  
\---

  
After work, Raphael invites him out for drinks with his coworkers, says if he has to go to this wretched affair, then so does Magnus. Magnus demurs, saying he has something important to do.

He doesn’t really; he’s just so eager to get home. There was a time not so long ago that Magnus would have gone out, drank too much, gone home with someone inadvisable. Now, he’s stone cold sober and hurrying home to someone equally inadvisable. He can't say he likes it, but his feet inevitably lead him back to Alec. He didn’t even seriously entertain going anywhere else.

Magnus unlocks his door and finds Alec on the couch, leaning over the coffee table, single lamp illuminating the room, throwing Alec’s features into sharp relief. Magnus bends down, unlaces his shoes, and kicks them off into the corner. He takes off his suit jacket and carefully folds it over his arm. He’s just putting off the inevitable.

He crosses the room, slings his jacket over the back of the couch, and sits down next to Alec, who has papers strewn across the coffee table and his laptop open, hard at work, probably planning something awful for Magnus. Something sharp pokes him from his pocket and Magnus leans back and pulls out the flyer, considering it carefully.

“How was your day?” Alec asks, looking up, eyebrows raised expectantly. He’s got a 5 o’clock shadow and his eyes look tired. He’s looked better, to be honest. Magnus has never loved him more.

He reaches forward, hand cupping Alec’s rough cheek. “You need a shave.”

Alec looks pleased, turning his face into Magnus' hand, his smiling lips brushing against Magnus’ fingertips. “When are you going to do it?”

It startles a laugh out of Magnus. “Not tonight.”

Alec pulls away from Magnus. “Oh, a date I don’t know about?”

“Not exactly. Look,” he says, “we can make permanent ass indents on my couch. I’ll be the first to admit that it would probably be an improvement on its appearance, but there’s more to the world than Turner Classic Movies.”

“TV Land?” Alec asks absently. Magnus glances over his shoulder and sees a drunken picture of himself, incredibly intoxicated and nearly cross-eyed. The caption reads that he’s shockingly single and ready to mingle.

Magnus chokes on his own spit. “Where did you find that?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alec says a little severely.

Magnus slams the laptop shut, nearly pinching Alec’s fingers. “Hey, I was working!”

“Enough,” Magnus says. “I don’t have to go on shitty dates for you to experience the world. And what have you experienced, anyway, except horrible TV and indoor plumbing?”

“I had a candy bar,” Alec says with dignity.

“Which one?”

“A Payday.”

“Disgusting,” Magnus murmurs. He hands Alec the flier.

“A carnival?”

“We should go,” Magnus says. “I have--” he swallows a little painfully. “I have good memories of one. I think I’m ready to go back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Magnus says, letting a little challenge slip into his voice. “You want to watch the world on TV or go out and experience it?”

 

\---

  
They arrive just before nightfall, and Magnus pays for his ticket, trying not to think about how much this is like a date. “This reminds me of when I was a kid. Things seemed so much simpler then,” Magnus sighs. The lights are on on the rides, the midway, garish.

“Want to go on a ride or get some fair food first?”

“Food,” Alec says, weaving through the crowd.

People are looking at Magnus strangely, but he finds he doesn’t mind. Fuck ‘em.

Magnus sorts. “Of course, you want the food first.”

They wait in line, the sweltering air hot, broken up by a cool breeze. He orders one large elephant ear with two plates. The guy taking his order gives him a strange look. “Yeah, I like to eat off two plates, so what?”

Alec watches, fascinated, his wings giving an exciting little twitch as the man pours the batter into the hot oil, swirling it around in great loops as it puffs up and turns golden. He finishes it off with cherries and powdered sugar.

Magnus pays, takes his food, an extra large soda and finds a quiet place away from the bustling crowd.

They sit down next to each other on the curb and Magnus hands Alec a plate, tears the elephant ear in half and slides the gooey mess onto Alec’s plate.

Alec immediately dives in before Magnus can shout a warning, and Alec swears loudly as he burns his tongue. Alec’s feathers shudder and he sucks in air over his burned tongue. “Argh,” he lisps, “you didn’t warn me it would be so hot.”

Magnus can’t help it; he bursts out laughing. In the distance, fireworks go off, illuminating the night in royal blue, hot pink. Some kids are running by, yelling after each other, laughing.

Magnus sighs and wipes his eyes, rips off a cooled piece of dough and pops it into his mouth. The cherries explode, tart and sweet against his tongue, the dough practically melting, chased by the lingering sweetness of the powdered sugar.

“I should have remembered, I guess,” Alec says ruefully, blowing on his food.

Magnus gulps down some fizzy drink. “You’ve eaten one?

“It was the last food I ate.”

“Oh yeah,” Magnus says, recalling one of their first conversations. “It was the last thing you had for like, twenty years or something, right?”

There’s a short lull in the fireworks before the second round starts. One corkscrews through the air with a hich-pitched whine. It bursts, white and blue with a shimmering trail. It looks like a shooting star.

Magnus says, “When I was younger, we lived near the boardwalk. One year, I snuck out to go to the fair. When I got home, my mom was furious with me, crying and hugging me. She kissed me and told me never to do that to her again, then she grounded me until my eighteenth birthday.”

“Were you?”

“What?”

“Grounded until your eighteenth birthday?”

“No—I. That’s hyperbole. Sometimes humans exaggerate for drama.” Magnus coughs and takes another bite of food. This bite is a little more bittersweet. “She wasn’t around to enforce it anyway. A few days later, we found out she was sick. She died later that year.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t comfort you.”

“Well, I guess you lent me strength,” Magnus says. For a brief second when he found out Alec had been around most of his life, he’d been angry. But just like Catarina, sometimes knowing someone’s there is enough.

Alec looks surprised. “Is that what you think?” Before Magnus can ask, he takes a bite of his Elephant Ear and his eyes widen.

“It’s good, right?”

“Magnus,” Alec gasps, between bites, “It’s _amazing_. I always knew it would be, but you know how sometimes things are better than you remember?”

Yeah, Magnus knows a lot about that. Memories, feelings, suffused into everyday objects. The mundane, elevated to the divine.

“I can’t believe it’s as good as I remember.”

“Why this food? Out of all the foods in the world? Why not caviar or thousand dollar champagne?”

“You made this look so good.”

Magnus looks over at Alec. “You were there that night?”

Alec gives Magnus a wry look. “A kid, alone on the boardwalk? Magnus, of course, I was there. Iz told me you'd snuck out and I found you eating an elephant ear.”

“Iz?”

“My sister,” Alec says. “They kept tabs on you when I was busy.”

Another piece of Alec slots into place for Magnus. Alec’s a hothouse flower, slowly unfurling, letting Magnus catch tantalizing glimpses of the heart of him. And still, Magnus wants more.

Jace, Izzy. Other angels, brothers and sisters, possibly more family than Magnus has ever had and lost. It’s good. It means that even after Alec fades and Magnus is no more than dust and the echoing memories of a flawed mortal man who desperately loved an angel just a little out of his reach, there’ll still be people who once remembered and loved Alec.

Magnus supposes that’s the best that anyone can hope for. Still, time becomes more precious because it is finite, and Magnus intends to spend his a little more wisely than he has done.

“How did you find me in the crowd?”

“I already explained it,” Alec says, exasperated, and leaning close. “It was easy. You shined bright like a beacon.”

“I’m glad you were there,” Magnus says. “I’m glad I could share that with you.”

Alec scrapes the plate with his spoon, licking the sugar and cherry glaze off the flimsy plastic, his eyes shut as he savors the last traces. “We’re not supposed to. Eat, you know. For once, I indulged. It was incredible.”

No wonder Magnus has an angel stuck in 1998. It was one of the last purely good memories Magnus has. It must have been the same for Alec.

“Alec, the rule-breaker,” Magnus teases, knocking his shoulder into Alec’s.

“You always do seem to bring it out in me.”

A beautiful girl with long dark hair walks by with her mother and her gaze lingers on Alec. She smiles shyly, pushing the bridge of her purple glasses up. Alec gives a little half-wave back before pressing a finger to his closed mouth.

Magnus feels his understanding of the world tilt again. “Could she see you?”

“Children and some mundanes have the sight. Sometimes kids have the sight and grow out of it. It comes with a certain amount of…idealism. Sometimes people gain the sight as a result of a tragedy.”

“Like a curse? Or a gift?”

“I suppose that would be up to you? It requires faith. Your friend Catarina has a touch of the sight. ”

Magnus doesn’t know why he keeps getting surprised by Alec. “You know Cat?”

“I’ve kept my eye on her. I watch out for everyone that you care about.”

It makes him feel better in a way that even when he was being a bad friend letting her navigate the choppy waters of new motherhood alone that he – even inadvertently – could do that for her.

He finishes up his food, taking one last bite, gone cool and a little gloopy, and chucks it in the trash can next to him, licking his sticky fingers. He leans back, bracing himself on his hands, crossing his legs. The concrete feels rough beneath his palms.

It’s hot outside. Magnus likes the summer when it becomes oppressively hot, the air thick and moist. The world is green, lush. It gets hot like this in the last minutes before Autumn comes and steals the green and brings the end of possibility. It reminds Magnus of summer vacations from school, long nights, sunshine, riding his bike through the park with Cat, head tilted back, racing the clouds. Vacations with his mom and dad. He hadn’t understood his parent’s fights behind closed doors, his mother’s sadness.

As an adult he can see the memories are tainted, nothing was as easy or happy as he remembers, but it’d felt like that at the time.

There’s a breeze coming, breaking up the oppressive heat, and Magnus cranes his neck to catch it across his face. The winds are shifting and summer is almost over once again.

Magnus sighs a little wistfully. “I guess I was never innocent enough to see the supernatural, huh?”

Alec seems surprised. His empty plate sits next to him on the sidewalk. “What makes you think that?”

“The only thing I ever saw as a kid was my dumbass invisible friend.” Magnus can’t help the tinge of bitterness that creeps into his voice. Years of school psychologists analyzing a lonely, heartbroken boy. “I made him up after my mom died. A bunch of psychologists finally decided it was ok. I was a traumatized kid and I needed a friend. How fucking hard was that to understand?”

“I’m sorry.” His pulls his legs closer, chin propped on his knees and watching Magnus carefully.

Alec has the habit of apologizing for things that aren't his fault.

Magnus’ shirt sticks to him, his back damp with sweat. He hears nearby children laughing. The sun’s down now and the lights are all up, tinny carnival music from a dozen rides overlapping. It should feel discordant, but it feels right, inevitable.

“One day, I wished on a shooting star like my mom taught me. I wanted a friend. Maybe it worked. I met Cat that year and I never did see him again. Eventually, I forgot about him.” The memories are hazy, overwritten by thousand since then, both happy and sad. He thinks they're all important now; he's spent a decade trying to outrun them, but his past is just his past. It informs who he is, but doesn't dictate it.

Magnus does remember one thing in particular. He laughs at the memory. “He made me laugh when I needed it. He was such a smartass. I thought I was being clever and named him Smart--”

“--Alec,” Alec finishes for him.

The sky lights up again, pink and purple, a thousand tiny pinpricks of light. Then answering call of the thunder, but all Magnus has eyes for is Alec, who’s looking steadily at him, eyes warm and soft. No one’s ever looked at him like this. Like he’s dazzling. Like he’s something incredible.

“You were always there for me,” Magnus says wonderingly. Alec’s told him half a dozen times, but he’s never fully understood until now.

“Yeah, I mean,” Alec says, “I wasn’t there for you all the times you needed me. I was on assignments--”

“It’s okay,” Magnus interrupts. This is one thing Alec never needs to be sorry for. “You lived your life and I lived mine. I don’t think it matters so much where we’ve been as much as where we end up.”

“Now you’re getting it,” Alec says, mouth curling into a smile. “That night you made your wish, you cried out to the universe because you were lonely and afraid. I heard that. For the first time, you wanted me.”

 _I always want you_ , Magnus thinks a little hopelessly. Alec’s hands are splayed wide, his face awash in lurid colors. Magnus reaches out, closes those last tortured inches between them and threads his fingers through Alec’s.

Every shooting star he’s seen, every time he made a wish, it was Alec checking on him, letting him know he was in someone’s thoughts. That he was loved.

Magnus feels the long-buried part of himself that was always secretly afraid he was nothing special, that he would never be enough for someone, heal and mend, stitching together after so many years of fear and self-doubt.

Magnus tips his head back, looking up at the inky black sky. It used to make him feel small like the universe was a vast place and he was a tiny, insignificant part of it. But not anymore. He stares up at the stars, Alec’s hand held tightly in his, and finally feels like he’s come home.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, check out @SeLBanewood's adorable art [for Chapter 4!](https://twitter.com/SeLBanewood/status/1114791012138766336)

  
  
Magnus wakes up tangled in Alec’s arms. He rolls over, Alec’s arm still a heavy weight around his waist, taking in the sight in front of him. Alec’s sleeping, eyelashes dark fans against his cheeks, his massive wings, feathers patchy and disheveled, twitching behind him. He’s never looked messier or more human.  
  
He would gladly wake up next to him for the rest of his life if Alec would let him.  
  
Magnus reaches out and brushes a lock of dark hair back from Alec’s face, tempted to lean closer and steal a kiss. The weird buzz that existed between them when he got too close to Alec in the beginning, has faded, leaving nothing in its wake but warm, smooth skin. Alec grumbles and turns over, slapping Magnus in the face with an errant wing.  
  
“Hey,” Magnus says, pushing the wings out of his way.  
  
“Hmm, food,” Alec murmurs, smacking his lips. His eyes remain closed and his breathing evens out.  
  
Magnus grins. He knows he looks stupidly happy and a little foolish, but he can’t help it. Wouldn’t stop this slow-moving avalanche of feeling, even if he could. He wants to sink into the goodness, this sweet moment without a trace of bitterness for as long as he possibly can.  
  
He traces his fingers up the notches on Alec’s spine through his shirt. For this suspended moment in time, he's solid and alive beneath his questing touch. Magnus closes his eyes to savor the warmth coming from his skin as he plunges his fingers into the soft down, massaging the foreign twist of muscles, the odd bones there.  
  
Alec wakes up in increments. “Hey,” he says, his voice raspy with sleep. “Mmm, that feels good. Don’t stop.”  
  
“When is the last time someone did this for you?” Magnus says, working the muscles harder now, feeling them unknot and loosen beneath this fingers.  
  
“Never,” Alec breathes. “Not that I can remember. It’s not something angels really do to each other unless they’re intimate.”  
  
Magnus’ hands still and Alec’s left wing slaps his wrist impatiently. Magnus’ hands absently resume while his mind races ahead. He had massaged Alec’s wings the first night they’d met. He’d touched them out of sheer curiosity and Alec had let him. Oh God, did he do the equivalent of a dog humping a stranger in the park? What’s more, why would Alec let him?  
  
“Intimate how, exactly?” Did I do inappropriate angel sex to your wings?  
  
“It’s not sexual,” Alec says, propping himself up on one elbow and craning his neck.  
  
Alec has stated many times that he can’t read minds, but that doesn’t stop the flash of fear that skitters down Magnus’ spine.  
  
“It’s more,” Alec continues, “what a mother might do to a child?”  
  
“A mother,” Magnus says flatly. “I remind you of your mother.”  
  
Alec snorts. “Not _my_ mother. A mother might. Not all. Lovers, maybe. It’s familiar, really intimate, but not necessarily sexual.”  
  
Magnus brain snags and stumbles over _lovers_. He swallows. “But it _could_ be sexual.”  
  
“Could be,” Alec agrees, voice husky.  
  
Sweet, dumb, curious Magnus. His curiosity had gotten him into a number of weird predicaments over the years, but nothing quite as bizarre as giving an angel the equivalent of a wing!handjob. Magnus couldn’t have possibly known, but Alec had. And still, he’d let him. It feels significant somehow.  
  
Magnus finishes up and stays on his side as Alec turns to face him. “Did you enjoy the carnival?”  
  
“It was great,” Alec says, tucking his bands beneath the pillow. If not for the enormous wings on his back, he could easily pass for a mundane, as if there were ever anything mundane about him. Albeit, a heavily-tattooed one. The curling rune above his heart is no longer faded, but dark black, as if had just been inked into his skin yesterday.  
  
Magnus reaches out and traces his finger along the loops and swirls. “What’s this one?”  
  
“That’s complicated,” Alec says, twitching away. He seems troubled.  
  
“It’s one word, how complicated could it be?” Magnus points out.  
  
“I’m the only angel that has it. It doesn’t do anything; it’s more of a feeling.”  
  
“Why was it faded?” Magnus remembers the bumpy painful-looking scar that rested there before.  
  
“I stopped believing,” Alec says softly. His eyes look so green, so open. He’s never been this forthcoming with Magnus before. With the morning light shining through his curtains, everything lit up golden-yellow, Magnus feels warm and safe, and impulsively, he leans forward and presses his lips to Alec’s.  
  
Alec’s lips are soft beneath his, chapped, stubble rough against his chin. Magnus had dreamed about this more times than he could count and his fantasies didn’t even begin to compare to the exhilarating, dizzying reality of kissing Alec.  
  
He’s so excited that it takes him a few tortured seconds to realize Alec isn’t kissing him back.  
  
Magnus goes cold, dread curling up in the pit of his stomach. “Please,” he whispers desperately against Alec’s lips, but Alec stays still, and with a horrible, sick feeling, Magnus pulls back.  
  
“Magnus--” Alec says. “I--” He trails off, at a loss for words.  
  
Alec looks shattered and so terribly sad. If he fucking apologizes for Magnus being such a dope, for totally misreading their relationship, then Magnus is going to scream. It’s just too fucking much; he laid himself bare for Alec and – bile rises in the back of Magnus’ throat.  
  
“Clearly, I misunderstood,” Magnus somehow manages to choke out, covering his face with his hands. Oh, God. He’s fucked everything up: his friendship with Alec, his burgeoning self-respect. He went out on a limb and the tree fucking collapsed on top of him.  
  
Had he imagined the whole thing, the mutual attraction, the budding feelings? This is what deranged, lonely people do – latch onto the nearest person and imagine a romance, Jesus. He breathes in and out, jagged, panting gasps. He’s definitely going to be sick, all the junk food he ate last night heaving unpleasantly.  
  
Just because Alec has the absolute shittiest timing in the world, takes the moment to say, “You have a date tonight. No joking, I think this one is really perfect for you.”  
  
A punch to the gut would have been less painful. The last thing someone wants to hear when they get rejected is how awesome they would be with someone else.  
  
“Listen,” Magnus manages. “I don’t have to do shit.”  
  
“No, you don’t understand, you have to,” Alec says, voice weirdly urgent. “This is for you. It’s only ever been for you.”  
  
Magnus doesn’t have the mental wherewithal to unpack Alec’s bullshit right now. His stomach gives a lurch and Magnus throws himself out of bed, running towards the bathroom. He makes it just shy of the toilet when falls to his hands and knees, emptying the bitter contents of his stomach onto the cold tile floor.

  
  
\---

  
  
  
Wednesdays suck. It’s days away from the weekend, but the glow of the previous weekend is a distant memory. Now it’s just him stuck in a cubicle for the rest of the week, dialing people that regularly hang up on him.  
  
On his first break, he sits at his desk in front of the word document he keeps on his flash drive on the offhanded he gets a flash of brilliance. He doesn’t know if he can stand to pour more of his hours, days, years into a book that people will read in a weekend, then rip apart. Or worse, forget. But he has to try.  
  
Writing is a battle, a war he’s raging with his own psyche, and he’s losing. Badly.  
  
There’s a great rift between who he should have been and who he is and he’s never felt that distance more than now. He's trapped in a perpetual state of messiness, an endless loop. He thinks he has his shit taken care of, finally solid ground beneath him, and then it gives way, sending him careening through life with only alcohol and his tendency towards self-harm to shield him.  
  
Magnus slams his laptop shut and puts it away. What the hell right does he have putting his words out there when he’s such a fucking mess?  
  
He sighs and picks up the phone, pulling up his list of number to call today, and starts dialing.  
  
“Hey,” Raphael says, popping up over the short cubicle wall. “Thanks for bailing on me for drinks after work yesterday.”  
  
“Sorry,” Magnus says, hanging up the phone. “Had some other stuff to do.”  
  
“You free tonight? Most of us are going out again.”  
  
“What are you, a bunch of alcoholics?”  
  
“You’re the one that started it,” Raphael points out.  
  
Magnus did. He organized the outings maybe his second week working at the call center. He wanted someone to go out with so he started the nightly drinking with his coworkers, cutting out of work a few minutes early, drinking to excess, and bitching about his shitty job, then getting up the next day to do it again. Misery really does love company.  
  
Everything we do has consequences, like ripples on a placid lake, spreading outward. And Magnus is sorry he used his charisma, his tendency to collect and gather people around him, to spread his anger and general dissatisfaction with his life to others. There’s no problem with venting, but this wasn’t that. It was sending tendrils of anger out into the world, poisoning those he had the audacity to call friends.  
  
“Sorry, hot date,” Magnus says. “But we’ll get together another time, yeah? No drinking, no bitching. Just talking and catching up.”  
  
“Good. That’s good,” Raphael says, nodding.  
  
“Why is that? You hate hearing about my dates.”  
  
“I hate hearing about your hookups,” Raphel corrects him.  
  
“Then I’ll be sure to tell you all about my date.”  
  
Raphael scowls. “I also hate hearing about your dates. I just think it’s good that you’re—doing something.”  
  
“Magnus leans back in his chair. “What do you mean?”  
  
“For as long as I’ve known you, things just sort of happen to you,” Raphael says. “It’s kind of charming, kind of a really dumb way to live life.”  
  
“Yeah, I guess I have,” Magnus agrees, thinking. That can’t be true, but the more he thinks about it, the more accurate it seems. He wrote a book on a whim, stumbled on this job, drifted away from his friends. Even Alec – Alec crashed into his life. Magnus hasn’t made a bigger decision than what outfit to wear or whether to eat the #7 or #12 at his favorite takeout joint for nearly a decade.  
  
“You never struck me as a passive person. Annoying, yes. Irritating, most definitely--”  
  
“I get it,” Magnus interrupts loudly.  
  
“But never passive,” Raphael says. “What happened to you?”  
  
“I guess I made too many wrong choices,” Magnus says.

  
  
\---

  
  
  
After work, Alec helps Magnus pick out date clothes. They have reached a sort of silent agreement in which Alec doesn’t talk about the Morning Which Shall Not Be Named and Magnus doesn’t curl into a ball of humiliation and give up on life completely.  
  
“This is going to be fine, this is going to be fine,” Alec keeps saying, doing the top button of Magnus’ shirt while Magnus assiduously avoids his eyes.  
  
He doesn’t know who Alec’s trying to convince, Magnus or himself. There’s a distance that hasn't been there since their first days together, and Magnus thinks back to only just last night, holding hands with Alec as the sky bloomed in color and feeling happy and so at peace and so loved, he could cry at the loss of it now.  
  
They took five steps forward, then seven back, right off the side of a fucking cliff.  
  
Magnus finishes touching up his eyeliner in the bathroom, avoiding staring directly into his own eyes. He can’t stand to see the hopelessness there.  
  
The next date is with Michael. He’s wonderful. Kind, a social worker, tall. Finally, Alec got it right and so, so terribly wrong. Magnus orders a cocktail with his appetizer, then switches to whiskey at dinner. Michael orders alcohol to be a gentleman, but barely drinks his. Magnus is perfectly aware he’s being an enormous flaming asshole, but he can’t seem to stop himself from ruining his date. After all, isn’t that what he does?  
  
He suffers a minor setback and torpedoes his life. Yeah, that’ll show all his detractors. Fuck up and prove them all right.  
  
The table is lit by candles and Magnus’ vision swims, candles flickering unpleasantly. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and realizes a second too late that he has a hold of the tablecloth. He’s an excellent date.  
  
A bead of sweat rolls down his nose and lands in his salad.  
  
“So,” Michael tries valiantly, “a novelist is pretty exciting.”  
  
He’s got about a million straight white teeth, a plump mouth. Frankly, he looks a bit like a fairer version of Alec.  
  
“Listen, Michael, my buddy,” Magnus slurs, “I’m a fucking awful writer and a total mess of a human being. You deserve better.”  
  
Michael chuckles nervously. Magnus is definitely going to end up as a Reddit thread of worst first dates. He’ll probably stumble across this story on twitter a year from now.  
  
He continues, “Every chapter, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m a fraud. What do I know about life? Fucking nothing.”  
  
Some asshole is yelling in the restaurant and interrupting his thoughts, Magnus thinks, supremely irritated.  
  
It’s with no small amount of drunken shame that Magnus realizes that shouting asshole is him.  
  
Magnus presses his balled up fists to his eyes. “I’m sorry. M’ fucking drunk and this isn’t me.”  
  
“I can tell,” Michael says.  
  
“Could you—could you stop being so nice for just a minute? I’ve been a total dick to you and you should punish me for it. I deserve it.”  
  
“Seems you’re punishing yourself enough.”  
  
Oh god, he’s really _that fucking nice_. Magus drops his hands and looks around. This is a beautiful restaurant and Michael is kind, handsome, everything Magnus is purportedly looking for. It should be perfect, but Magnus is in love with someone else, even if they don’t feel the same. But loving someone else isn’t a zero sum game. You give your heart freely and cannot expect anything in return.  
  
Magnus sighs and pulls out his wallet, setting down his credit card, which is immediately and discretely swiped away by a waiter in black. The bill is likely astronomical and he honestly prefers not to know the total. It would be nice if you could get a nice meal in New York without selling an organ to pay for it.  
  
“We can split the bill--”  
  
“Let me get it. It’s the least I can do,” Magnus says.  
  
He pays and escorts Micheal to the door. Outside on the sidewalk, Micheal hesitates. “You sure you can get home okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” Magnus assures him. Just standing outside in the fresh air is doing him some good, clearing his head. “Look, you’re a nice guy--”  
  
“Say no more,” Michael says. “I’m perfectly happy with this being our only date.”  
  
Magnus grins ruefully. The world is slowly coming back into focus and he can’t say he’s pleased with the view. He’s made a damn mess of things. “That bad, huh?”  
  
Michael crosses his arms and Magnus eyes the way the shirt pulls taut across his wide shoulders a little wistfully. “I get that you’re going through something and this is just a bad time, but you called me Alec at least a half-dozen times.”  
  
“Oh, shit. Sorry,” Magnus says and has the grace to be at least a little embarrassed. Michael is too good for him, honestly. He’s handsome and kind and generous and puts up with a derpy writer in love with someone else. If there was any part of Magnus that lay unclaimed, then he would let himself feel something for Michael. But Magnus has always been a one soul at a time kind of guy, and that’s not going to change anytime soon.  
  
Besides, there’s no room for anyone else. Alec crash-landed into his life, pushing Magnus past his self-imposed boundaries, irrevocably changed Magnus. And in doing so, Alec made every last corner of Magnus’ tattered heart his.  
  
“Whoever he is, I think you should tell him how you feel,” Micheal says.  
  
“I kind of did.”  
  
“Kind of?”  
  
“I tried to kiss him and he didn't return the kiss.”  
  
“A kiss isn’t the same thing as telling him how you feel. Honesty is harder, Magnus. And maybe he won’t be interested, but I think you should tell him anyway – not for his sake – but yours. I don’t think you’ll be able to move on until you do.”  
  
“You’re right.” Godamnit.  
  
“And maybe once the dust settles, you give me a call?”  
  
“Yeah, maybe,” Magnus agrees, but they both know that won’t happen.  
  
Micheal leans forward to brush a kiss against his cheek. It’s goodbye.  
  
Almost as if he can see it, Magnus feels this particular thread breaking, the possible connection turning cold and gray.  
  
He watches Michael walk away from him, and with a sigh, he starts home. Instead of taking the subway, he walks the six blocks, grateful for the time to sober up and think.  
  
He shoves his hands in his pocket and feels something soft tickle his fingertips. He closes his hand around it and pulls it out, opening his fist to see a tiny white feather.  
  
Alec’s losing feathers at an alarming rate and it means something big. He has his theories.  
  
What Magnus does know is that he can’t possibly keep going on dates. Even if it’s perfect, he’s already hopelessly in love. Everyone’s right. He’s going to tell Alec; he _has_ to, no matter what. The truth may very well set you free, but it always comes with a cost. The amazing and terrible thing about the human spirit is its willingness to come back for a second dose of humiliation.  
  
But he can’t live his life waiting for good things to happen to him.  
  
And if Magnus is right, then something big is happening to Alec and Magnus thinks he knows why Alec keeps pushing him away. It’s not that Alec doesn’t love him, it’s that he maybe can’t without becoming a mundane. And if Magnus is totally wrong and he has to spend the rest of his life with someone no one but him can see, then that’s fine too. He doesn’t need anyone but Alec.  
  
There is so rhyme or reason to the universe. All things don’t happen for a reason. Our lives are random, dice against a table and the house always wins. But some things are worth betting on.  
  
He’s a writer, for god sakes, and it’s time to get up off his ass and write the story of his own damn life.  
  
By the time, Magnus gets home, his mind is made up. And while he doesn’t feel exactly positive, he’s at least gathered the tattered remnants of his courage. He can do this. He can lay his heart on the line for a last-ditch chance at happiness with the man he loves. Alec is worth the gamble, and so is his future.  
  
And if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. At least he can move on.  
  
Magnus practically runs up the stairs, imagining Alec on the couch in a wrinkled shirt, watching TV and eating awful candy bars. His dopey, self-sacrificing angel.  
  
“Alec--” he says, throwing open the front door, but stops short. Alec’s laptop is on the coffee table, closed. His cup of cold coffee sits next to it. A peculiar stillness grips the air when the dust settles and no one has been home all day.  
  
Without even checking, Magnus knows the apartment is completely empty, and Alec is gone.


	8. Chapter 8

Magnus sits on the couch. Alec couldn’t have gone far, he tells himself. After all, the man barely knows how to operate a microwave. His cellphone is on the table. Alec always pretends to be working, but Magnus recognizes the sound of Angry Birds.

Besides, who else would let him loaf around on their couch, eat all their breakfast cereal, and use up all the hot water?

Jesus, if this is all Magnus has to offer, no wonder Alec took off. He falls back onto the couch like a deflated balloon. He feels his lips do something funny – tremble – and he presses an angry fist to his mouth.  
He’s so fucking angry at himself and he forces his mind blank, trying to dispel the dark thoughts that always seem to be waiting for him to get down low, a single moment of weakness, to take hold. His eyes snag on Alec’s bow, jammed between the door and the wall where it’s been collecting dust all this time. Alec might be able to leave him, but he wouldn’t leave his precious bow. That means he’s somewhere near and definitely coming back.

Magnus could wait for Alec to come home, or he could go find Alec himself. Alec’s always been chasing after him; it seems time to return the favor. Magnus sits up quickly, his feet hitting the floor with a loud smack.

He doesn’t Where would an angel go? Where would anything with wings go? High up, probably. But then again, this is Alec, so it could just as easily be getting shitty fast food.

The first place he should check is the roof, though. Magnus can start calling the worst fast food joints in town afterward and ask if any food’s mysteriously gone missing.

Magnus leaves the apartment, not bothering to lock it behind him. If he doesn’t come back with Alec, he’s not sure he ever wants to come back. He takes the stairs carefully, savoring the last traces of hope. His rings slide against the railing, a metallic scrape that grates on his ears. Four flights of stairs and he’s at the top.

He pushes through the metal door and nearly collapses with relief when he sees Alec’s familiar wrinkled shirt and wind-mussed hair.

It seems lighter up here, cooler, high above the stifling heat of the city. The oppressive feeling of always being surrounded by people and concrete. If he had wings, he’d never come back down to earth.

Alec is on the roof, leaning over the side, studying the city. It’s possibly how he’s spent the majority of his life, and Magnus is a little flabbergasted that Alec found him worthy of giving up this incredible view.

“Jace,” Alec’s saying. “I would never let you do that for me.”

A pause and then, “Well, it’s not even going to happen.”

It’s kind of surreal to only hear one part of a conversation and he wonders if that’s what he’s looked like these past few months to strangers. It’s incredibly shocking that he hasn’t been locked up yet,

If Magnus concentrates, he can see something out of the corner of his eye, where the air seems to shimmer, reality bending around something that shouldn’t be there.

Magnus coughs gently, and Alec startles, turning around.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Magnus says, though he’s not really. He wants to close the distance between them and shake Alec by his fool shoulders until his teeth rattle for worrying him so much.

“You weren’t,” Alec replies. “I was talking to my brother.”

“He’s worried about you.”

A pause, then: “Yes.”

Magnus stuffs his hands in his pockets, irritatingly sober. He’d planned up until this moment and no further. Now that it’s here, he doesn’t quite know what to say, so he goes with the most banal thing he can think of. “As he should be. It’s dangerous up here. No railing on this side.”

“Magnus--” Alec rubs his forehead. He looks so tired.

“The landlord sucks. It rusted out a few years ago and they never bothered to replace it.” He’s babbling, can’t seem to stop stupid, irrelevant shit from pouring from his mouth. It’s what he does when he’s avoiding. That, and drink and party. The bigger the party, the more he wants to distract himself from what’s really bothering him.  
Outwardly, his life has always looked great. Parties, clubs, a large circle full of acquaintances that don’t really matter because Magnus never gave them the opportunity to. But none of that has worked out for him well before, so maybe he should try something different.

Magnus takes a couple of deep breaths. “Is your brother still here?”

Alec looks confused by the weird segue. “No, he took off. I wonder if it’s that annoying when I disappear on people, too?”

Magnus can guarantee that it is but wisely keeps that information to himself. “So, the date was a bust.”

“I figured.”

“Kind of a last-ditch effort?” Magnus says with the kind of honesty that makes him feel raw like the onion they chopped together the first time they cooked; stripped bare and held open, exposing his heart. “I hate to say it, but I think I’m a lost cause.”

“Hardly,” Alec says with a snort, looking away. “You have more potential than anyone I know. I wish you could see how bright you shine. I wish you could see yourself how I see you.”

Magnus gathers the tattered remains of his courage and walks over to Alec, where his arms are crossed. He reaches out and slides his hand over Alec’s, heart thudding. “You could show me.”

Alec looks back at him. “Magnus, my assignment is over. It’s done and I’m being recalled.”

Magnus drops his hand. For a full minute, Magnus can’t even breathe. A knife to the heart would hurt less.

“No,” Magnus breathes.

“Why is it that you’re always arguing with me?”

“Because you’re so frequently wrong,” Magnus replies, thoughts racing. This can’t be true. Because he remembers the first time they met. If Alec’s assignment was just for Magnus to fall in love, then it was finished weeks ago.

He shakes his head. “You’re wrong, your assignment isn’t over yet,” Magnus says. Because I've been in love with you since we first met.

“My assignment was for you to find peace.” Alec shrugs helplessly. A muscle in his jaw twitches, and Magnus realizes Alec’s angry and trying to hide it. “You’re the one that thought you needed to be in love for that, so I worked accordingly.”

“By sending me on hellish dates?”

Alec uncrosses his arms and coughs. “I might’ve taken my time.”

“But I’m not happy,” Magnus insists. “I’m not peaceful. You’re trying to tell me that your assignment is over and you’re leaving me--”

“Aren’t you?” Alec interrupts. “You’re reconnecting with old friends, dating again, even working on your book.”

“Failing to work on my book--”

Alec reaches out, tugs Magnus close and considers resisting for about half a second, but he’s never really been able to. “But you’re trying.”

Magnus shakes his head again disbelievingly. “My date was a bust. There’s not even going to be a second date. I’ll spare you the embarrassing details. I doubt I could remember most of them anyway, I think I went to the bathroom and cried.”

“Magnus, all of this is because you refuse to settle now. That’s more than what you would have done when we met.” Alec leans his forehead against Magnus’. “I’m so proud of you.”

For less than you, you fucking idiot. I’m in love with you. I can’t settle for less than you. “Alec, Alec, no,” Magnus says helplessly.

“Magnus, I’ll be with you for the rest of your life.”

“Fuck you,” Magnus spits, chest heaving. This is all wrong. His hands are fisted in Alec’s shirtfront, blue shirt a wrinkled mess beneath his hands. “You don't get to tell me that while you’re leaving me.”

Alec’s hands are around his, hot and tight like vises. “You think I want this? I would give anything for this to be different.”

“Have you even _tried_?”

“Yes,” Alec spits, and Magnus can see why he’s so angry. He’s tried and he’s failed. Alec, his planner, his archer that sees the big picture, all the ways people change, the possibilities, he can’t see a way out of this and it’s making him furious.

Magnus feels his momentary rage leeching away, almost as if Alec’s draining it from him. It leaves him feeling hollow, scooped out, and exhausted.

Alec’s breathing hard and they’re so close, Magnus could brush his lips against that stubbled jaw that he never got another chance to shave. They’ve wasted so much time.

Alec says, “Your life is going to be so beautiful, I can promise you that.”

It’s dark up here, the lights of the city tiny and shining bright like stars. The sound of traffic singing its own peculiar city lullaby. He used to find it so comforting.

Magnus licks his lips and tastes salt. “Oh, so angels can see the future now?” His voice shakes.

“No, but I know you,” Alec says. “You’re resilient, determined, and so, so brave.”

“And I have many shiny shirts.”

Alec huffs out a quiet laugh. “Yes, you have a lot of those too.”

“I could see through you when we first met.”

“Yes,” Alec says.

“You're solid now.”

“Yes.”

“Are you falling?”

“Yes.”

Magnus’ heart pounds in his chest, painful, raw, cracked wide open. “Is that such a bad thing? Spending the rest of your mortal life with me?”

Alec laughs. It’s an angry, nasty sound. Magnus has always loved Alec’s laugh, but this one fills him with fear. Alec is many things – annoyingly practical, a little bit lazy about surprising things, a killer of joy and general merriment – but he’s not bitter. “I wouldn't remember you. I would be dropped into a random life. We might not even be alive on the same the continent or the same time. Our entire lives would be spent apart.”

Magnus makes a ragged sound, something between a laugh and sob, ripped from somewhere deep inside his chest. It’s candles blown out on a birthday cake, the last minutes of Christmas, a thousand tiny disappointments and hurts all combined into something large and dark and ugly. It’s the last flicker of hope being snuffed out.

“At least this way,” Alec’s saying, “I’ll be with you the rest of your life. Watching, keeping you safe. You will never be alone, Magnus Bane.”

“Just without you.”

“Never,” Alec says softly and threads his fingers through Magnus’, brings his hands up and kisses his knuckles. It’s romantic and a little bit old-fashioned, but Alec’s an old romantic bastard. Magnus can see that now.

Maybe people don’t get the happy endings they deserve. Maybe they just get what happens and it’s up to them to decide what to do with the time they have left.

It’s okay, Magnus tells himself. He’s survived worse.

He’s shockingly used to not getting what he wants, but he supposes everyone is. No one ever does, really. True happiness seems to be the middle ground between what you want and what you can get. And right now, he wants what he can have of Alec.

“It’s been a long day and I’m tired,” Magnus says. “Let’s go to bed.”

Alec follows him down the stairs, to the bedroom where they woke up tangled together just this morning. It already feels like a million years and a lifetime ago.

He turns on the bedside lamp, leaves the overhead light off, and watches Alec pull out drawstring pajama pants. There’s a chair in the corner of the room by the window and Magnus sits down, watching Alec carefully unzip his jeans.

Alec pauses and looks up at Magnus. “The way you look at me--” Alec says hesitantly.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

Alec swallows. “No, it makes me want to look back.”

“Then look,” Magnus says, fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt. He’s feeling bold and reckless. At the end of the world, he has nothing left to lose. The air is cool across his chest and belly and he feels his nipples harden as Alec’s gaze scrapes over him like a physical thing. He lets the shirt fall off his shoulders and land in a puddle on the chair behind him.

“I've never--”

“Then let me guide you.” Magnus gets up, crosses the room, and taps Alec’s chest. “Take the shirt off.”

“Ah,” Alec says, looking embarrassed. “About that.” He unbuttons the shirt and Magnus drinks in each inch of revealed skin, the thatch of hair on his chest, the ridges of his abdomen, the swirling dark rune over his heart.

Alec slips the shirt over his shoulders, where it hangs awkwardly, hung up on his wings. “See?”

“What happened to your metaphysical wings?”

“I’ve nearly completely fallen.” Magnus glances back and his wings are sad, misshapen things with patchy, painful looking clumps of feathers.

“Does it hurt?”

Alec grimaces. “They’re dying. It feels like losing a limb.”

“But they won’t if you go back?”

“No,” Alec says, “It’ll be like this never happened.”

“Okay,” Magnus says. His hands still and he shudders. Once again, he’s trying to outrace his pain. If he stops and thinks about what he's losing for one single second, he won’t be able to--

“Don’t think about it,” Alec says, hand brushing against his. “Stay with me. Right here in this moment. Don’t think about tomorrow.”

Stay with me, Magnus thinks, shaking all over. What ironic fucking words.

“I’m going to get something.” Magnus heads into the kitchen, grabs a pair of shears from the drawer, and closes it back. He leans against the counter, breath hitching, coming faster. Panicked gasping. He presses his lips together and forces himself to breathe slowly. Once he thinks he can move without screaming, he forces himself to walk back to the bedroom where Alec is standing, looking a little lost.

Magnus grabs a hold of one of the sleeves and cleanly slices it off. He pulls at the shoulder seams until all that’s left is the back panel.

Then he carefully maneuvers the scissors around until Alec’s completely free.

He turns to put the scissors up, but his foot gets caught in the rug, and he feels himself falling.

Alec lunges forward, arms wrapping around his waist, wings spread and flapping wildly, an angelic version of an arm flail. He’s never seen Alec’s wings unfurled and the vision makes Magnus catch his breath. Great tufts of feathers go flying in every direction, falling in slow-motion like flakes in a snowglobe,

He barely feels his body hit the mattress, softened by Alec. But then again, Alec’s always been with him, blunting the sharp edges of the world. And he always will, even if not in the manner Magnus wanted.

Alec makes a pained face and groans, rolling onto his side.

Alec is both leaving him and pledging his life to Magnus forever, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it. So he plunges his fingers into the sad pile of aching feathers on Alec’s back and starts massaging, trying to leech away his pain. Where he intends to put it, Magnus doesn’t know. He’s already full up.

  
It’s not fair. Alec pushed himself into Magnus’ life, stripped away his defenses one by one, and is now leaving Magnus alone, defenseless against a world that isn’t cruel, but indifferent, which seems worse.

  
Slowly, Alec relaxes beneath his hands and he withdraws slowly, thinking Alec’s fallen asleep. He sits up, unbuckling his belt and pulling it out of the loops, careful to stay quiet. He should change his clothes before he falls asleep in his nice suit.

“What do you want,” Alec asks, startling Magnus. His eyes are tracking Magnus’ movements carefully.

“Everything,” Magnus says honestly. “Too much.”

Alec rolls over with a wince and Magnus almost objects to Alec undoing all his hard work until Alec reaches up and pulls Magnus’ face and kisses him, his tongue sweeping across the seam of his lips. Magnus opens for him, and Alec’s tongue traces the front of his teeth, then delves deeper.

He’d expected Alec to taste like wind and something poetical, but he mostly tastes like stale breakfast cereal. Still, Magnus has suffered for this kiss, been on a host of unspeakable dates, cleaned under his bed, faced his biggest fears and lived to tell the tale.

But isn’t that what it’s all about – shattering, remaking yourself better and stronger, trying not to become too cold or brittle with each new version. The ability to be simultaneously thrilled and heartbroken is an ability unique to humans, but it’s all a part of it, the agony and ecstasy of living.

And Alec’s right about that at least, Magnus finally wants it all. He finally sees value in the full spectrum of existence.

“I love you,” Magnus says. “I should have told you sooner, but I was—I was a fucking coward.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” Alec says.

No, Magnus supposes it doesn’t. Still, some things should be said because the truth is powerful and because the world has plenty of ugliness to go around. And because Magnus needs Alec to know all the ways in which he’s made and unmade Magnus, ripped him apart and put him back together, better, whole.

He cups Alec’s face in his hands. “I love you. I love your bad manners, your questionable taste in TV. I love that you won’t eat anything with wings. I love everything about you, even the things that I don’t like. Do you understand that?”

If this is the last time he gets to speak to Alec, then Magnus wants to make sure Alec understands that even if his feelings are nothing in regards to an angel, so small compared to the history he has seen, it’s still momentous to him. It’s still everything he has to offer.

Alec takes his hand and lays it over his heart, where it beats strong and sure. “It’s the love rune,” he says. “You did that.”

Magnus had always known, but it still feels good to have Alec confirm it.

“You believe in love again?”

“More like the possibility of love in humanity. I believe – I believe that it’s worth it.”

“Who changed your mind about mundanes?”

Alec’s hand tightens around his own. It reminds Magnus of their first night together when he touched his wings, fearful and curious. Alec presses a kiss against his thumb and says, “You did. You thought I was giving you strength this whole time? You were giving me strength. I visited you when I was weak. And spending this time with you--”

Alec pauses, and Magnus waits, no longer feels the need to fill up the silence with words. Some things are worth waiting for.

“You make living worth it,” Alec says, voice ragged. “You’ve taught me love, that life is still worth living. I was fading before I met you. I thought you were a punishment, but now I think you were a final gift.”

Alec’s hand is on his back, fingers moving restlessly against his skin, trying to touch every inch of him.

He’s memorizing me, Magnus realizes.

He can give him more than that. “Take off the rest of your clothes.”

Alec’s eyes are wide, lashes a slow, dark sweep. He licks his lips. “Okay,” he says, letting go of Magnus and slipping his jeans off his legs. After that, his boxers.

Magnus drinks in the sight of him, greedy for every single detail. He kisses Alec again, his jaw, his neck, that love rune that curls around his dusky nipple.

“Can I?” Magnus asks before sucking on the nipple, grazing it with his teeth.

“Anything,” Alec says mindlessly, cock hard and leaking against Magnus leg. He’s still wearing his suit pants, but this seems more important.

He pulls Alec to the end of the bed and nestles between his knees. He’d like this to special, something elegant, but Alec likes Jolly Ranchers, hates Paydays, sings off-key in the shower, and gets his wings tangled in the shower curtain. Nothing about them is elegant, but what it is, is tender and honest.

Magnus says, “I’m going to blow you now.”

“Go for it,” Alec says curiously. “I’ve seen adult movies, I know what to expect.”

Magnus has to bite back a smile.

He should be careful, go slow. He’s dealing with a two-thousand-year-old virgin, after all. And it does make him feel weirdly proprietary, make something primal twist down low in his gut that he’s the only being alive to have seen Alec like this. Magnus wants to take everything from Alec, to be all of his firsts, to suck bruises over the entirety of his body, putting his mark over every single rune as if to lay claim. _He’s mine. You gave him up and you can’t take him back now._

They don’t have the time to do everything Magnus wants. They should have had more time.

Magnus runs his hands up Alec’s thighs, watching his black, painted fingernails scrape across the pale skin, leaving pale red marks. The nail polish is chipped, flawed, but nearly every part of him is. But still, Alec wants him, has always wanted him.

His eyelashes are lowered, peering down at Magnus anxiously. “Magnus, I--” He bites his lip.

He’s screwing up his courage, Magnus can tell, but this shouldn’t take any. This is easier than falling and if done right, not nearly as painful. He touches the inside of Alec’s thighs, pushing his knees further apart, and tenderly kisses his knee.

Alec is marked up with swirling dark runes, but not on his legs. Magnus works his way up, pressing his lips against the blank, vulnerable skin of his inner thigh, the crease between his leg and hip, and above him, Alec shivers.

Magnus tilts his head to watch Alec’s reaction as best as he can and the moment he lowers his mouth to Alec’s cock, Alec’s eyes go comically wide. He makes a choking sound as Magnus licks a stripe up the underside of his cock, hand curled loosely around the base.

“Holy _fuck_.”

“That’s blasphemy,” Magnus warns, pulling off and giving his balls a playful tug.

Alec takes an unsteady, shuddering breath.

“You like that?” Magnus asks and tugs his balls again, a little firmer this time.

“ _Christ_.”

He’s learning all kinds of fun new stuff about Alec these days. He holds Alec’s balls with one hand, the other around his dick, and goes for it, sucks Alec down about midway, lips covering his teeth. Above him, Alec’s gasping, fisting the sheets, knuckles white. It’s quick and dirty, but Alec seems to be enjoying himself.

Magnus removes his hand from Alec’s dick and grabs Alec’s hand with his, guides it to his hair, where Alec’s hand instinctively curls in, gripping his hair tight enough to make Magnus’ eyes water.

But this, _this right here_. The tingle at his scalp, the feel of Alec’s hard dick sliding between his lips.

“I’m going to--” Alec’s fingers tighten warningly and Magnus just takes him deeper, swallowing, and relaxing his jaw. “Oh shit, fuck,” Alec says, eyes screwed shut as he comes, splashing hot and slightly bitter at the back of Magnus’ tongue.

Magnus pulls off with a wet, obscene sound. Alec falls back on the bed, panting.

Magnus gets to his feet, groaning, and wipes his mouth. His knees and back hurt. Jesus, he can barely give a blowjob anymore. Thirty is hitting him like a freight train. What’s next, a hearty dose of Ben Gay after fucking?

“Magnus,” Alec says as Magnus sprawls down on the bed next to him, “that was—incredible. I had no idea.”

His own cock aches, throbbing and insistent, but he takes a minute as Alec leans forward and captures Magnus’ lips with his own. Lots of guys don’t like the taste of their own jizz, but there’s something to be said about blowing an angel with zero shame or reservations. Alec sucks his own taste down, swallowing, and hungry for more.

“I could return the favor,” Alec says, pulling away, lips swollen, lush. Magnus could just imagine Alec on his knees, taking his cock. It would probably be terrible and full of teeth, and Magnus would love it all the same because it’s Alec.

But he wants more, always. “Fuck me,” Magnus says, fisting his own cock roughly. He needs to cool off, but he feels restless, skin too tight, brittle. He wants his hands back on Alec’s skin, Alec inside of him.

“I, uh,” Alec says warily. “I’m going to need some recovery time.”

Magnus can’t help it, he laughs. When he catches sight of Alec’s outraged face, he laughs even harder. “It’s okay, grandpa,” Magnus says through wheezing gasps. “We can try later.” It has the much-needed effect of making Magnus’ erection flag slightly.

Alec’s expression goes calculating. He licks his already wet lips, a pretty pink flush starting on his cheeks and bursting onto his neck and chest. “You could do me.”

Magnus abruptly stops laughing. His cock goes rock-hard; if he doesn’t calm down, he might actually nut on the spot and then they’re both out of fucking luck.

“I wouldn’t want to pressure you into anything,” Magnus says because he’s kind of a good guy. In this way, at least.

“I want you to,” Alec says. “Ever since I saw it on an adult--”

“Call it porn,” Magnus interrupts. “Just call it porn.”

“Anyway, I've been thinking about it. What you would feel like the inside of me.”

“Jesus,” Magnus says faintly.

“That’s blasphemy,” Alec says with a faint grin, reaching for the hot bulge on Magnus’ pants and massaging,

“I’m pretty sure fucking an angel is a bigger sin,” Magnus says, but he already knows he’s going to take what Alec’s freely offering. If he’s being entirely honest with himself, he knew it from the moment he saw Alec scrunched up on the couch and offered to share his bed.

They have been on a collision course towards this moment, this exact ending, and what can Magnus do but go along for the ride?

“D-do you want me on my hands and knees?” Alec asks shyly, and if Magnus wasn’t so goddamn turned on, he’d be charmed. He’s met feisty, smirking Alec. Mean stoic Alec. But not this one, shy and eager, nearly clumsy with it.

“I want to see your face,” Magnus says, voice so low and husky, he barely recognizes himself. If he and Alec only get one night, he wants to see every moment of it, sear it into his memory and heart. He scrambles forward, thinking, then finally grabs all his pillows and piles them against the headboard. “Like this. You on top,” He kicks off his pants, too excited to be embarrassed. He leans over and grabs lube and a condom from his nightstand.

Alec hums thoughtfully.

“Like what you see?” Magnus asks, aware that he has a nice ass. No use in being coy at this stage in the game; they’re already fucking,

“I always enjoy Livin’ La Vida Loca.”

“Oh sweet fuck,” Magnus says, stomach plummeting. Oh, god. That goddamn tattoo. He got it when he was eighteen and drunk and _stupid_.

“I’ve seen it before,” Alec reminds him.

“And you still wanted to sleep with me?” Magnus teases, throwing the tube of lube at him.

“You don’t need that,” Alec says, reflexively catching it.

“Listen, buddy, I don’t know what kind of shitty porn you’ve been watching, but you don’t want to fuck dry. That wouldn’t be fun for either of us.”

“The condom,” Alec says, gesturing at the nightstand. “Angel? I’m clean.”

“Not after I’m through with you,” Magnus says, grasping Alec’s hip and turning him over. Alec obediently goes, one leg folded up beneath him and Magnus squeezes some lube onto his fingers, leans down and kisses Alec’s lower back, right at the dip in his spine. He runs his hands over his ass, admiring the curve of it, the bare, solid warm skin, leaving shiny wet trails.

Alec jumps at the contact.

“That was the easy part,” Magnus says, pressing a finger into him, watching the tip of his finger disappear into the tight heat of Alec’s body. He refuses to look higher at the ruin of Alec’s formerly gorgeous wings. “You’re beautiful,” he says suddenly.

“This is a weird moment,” Alec says, grunting, pressing back onto Magnus’ finger. “This feels like a weird moment.”

“I think it’s the perfect moment.” He slowly adds another finger, twisting and crooking them slightly when he feels Alec’s relax around him.

“I’m aware that you find my body pleasing.”

“Not your body,” Magnus says, “--just you. The entirety of you.” He brushes up against Alec’s prostate and Alec curses loudly.

“Ahh, Magnus,” Alec gasps, and Magnus adds another finger. He's over-prepping him, but he wants this to be painless, easy. He wants Alec to be turned on and for this to be so good for him.

Alec pushes himself back onto Magnus’ fingers, greedily fucking himself back on them.

Magnus folds himself over Alec’s body, whispering in his ear, “Do you think you could come like this? No other touch, just my fingers?”

“Yes,” Alec says.

“I think so too.” Magnus sucks a bruise on the side of Alec’s neck, working his fingers in and out of Alec’s ass, brushing against his prostate, too light to make him come, but enough to make him groan, curse, clenching around his fingers. “But we’ll have to find out another time,” he throws out casually. A second later, it hits him. There likely won’t be another time. Heart thudding painfully, he says, “Turn over.” He eases his fingers out and settles back against the pillows, squirting another generous helping of lube onto his dick.

Alec eagerly climbs over Magnus, bracketing him with his ridiculously long legs.

He reaches back, grabbing Magnus’ cock and rubbing it against his slicked entrance. He slowly drops down, opening against the pressure. “You reminded me why living was worth it,” Alec says, eyes sliding closed. “I love you too, Magnus Bane.”

“For how long? How long will you love me?”

Alec presses his thumb to Magnus’ mouth, meets his eyes. “For longer than you’ll love me. I will love you until the oceans boil away, until the sun goes cold and gray. I will carry you in my heart even after this universe heaves its last dying breath and the last star winks out of existence. I will love you even then.”

“That’s a long time,” Magnus says, mouth dry. He didn’t know. Alec had told him a thousand times in a thousand different ways, and still, he didn’t know. Alec keeps having to tell him the same things over and over again before he fully understands, so who’s really the stupid one?

Alec’s expression does something complicated, his face collapsing.

Magnus wipes a bead of moisture away from the corner of Alec’s eye. “Stay with me. Don’t think about tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Alec agrees, and slowly lowers himself onto Magnus’ cock, wrist pressed against his mouth as the head slips in.

He feels incredible, tight and hot inside. Alec keeps going, and Magnus barely holds himself in place, keeps the needy jerk of his hips in check, letting Alec set the pace. Fully seated, Alec sighs. “Fuck, oh my fucking god.” He swallows, breathing hard, chest red. He raises himself up, Magnus’ cock nearly slipping free, and then lowers himself again, faster, fucking himself on Magnus’ body, blindly, no finesse, nearly helpless with need.

Magnus’ hands hold Alec’s hips, and he thrusts up, meeting Alec halfway there, desperately yanking him down onto his cock. Someone is chanting, _darling, my darling_ , and with a start, Magnus realizes it’s him, fucking into Alec’s body, one hand scraping through his wild hair, sweat dripping into his eyes.

He feels the pressure building in his belly, down low. A second before he comes, he roughly pulls Alec to him, chest to chest and snarls, “I don't give a fuck what they say, they can’t have you.”

Alec cries out, clenching around him and going still, and Magnus’ vision blurs, whites out, as he comes deep inside Alec, marking him on the inside. His heart thunders in his ears, a staccato beat, a prayer to the universe: _He’s mine. I love him. I need him.  
_

 

\---

 

  
The morning shines bright and lovely, sun filtering through the curtains. Throughout the night, Alec and Magnus had dozed off, taken turns fucking and talking. Magnus had given Alec a lazy handjob and Alec had made his way, choking and eyes watering, through an awkward blowjob. To Magnus, it had been perfect.

This morning, their bed is littered with downy white feathers that tickle and scratch his legs. Grinning softly, Magnus rolls over, stretches out his arm, and touches cool sheets. The smile slides off his face, and Magnus sighs. He keeps his eyes closed a second longer, so he doesn't have to see that he's alone again.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: briefly mentions suicidal thoughts, excessive drinking to cope

  
Magnus spends the first three days wallowing in bed, marinating in his own misery, calling in at work and being a self-pitying asshole.

Raphael texts once, Catarina three times. A couple of people from work text to see where he is. Magnus ignores them all and drinks all the substantial liquor in his apartment. When he’s out, he cradles the last empty bottle in his arms and cries like a baby because emotional transference is weird like that.

Eventually, he manages to peel himself out of bed, throw on a t-shirt and sweats, and hobble down to the bodega to buy more.

He refuses to make eye contact with anyone, shoving his crumpled bills across the counter and generally acting like a suspicious motherfucker.

Once back at his apartment, he flops onto the couch, mindlessly channel surfing, fingers curled protectively around his brown-bagged 40, and barely manages to keep a straight face when a shitty rerun of _Frasier_ comes on. He feels his face crumple and his eyes blur as Frasier says, “You see, I was clinging to a life that wasn't working, and I knew I had to do something, anything.”

In his mind, he hears Alec say, _What are you doing to yourself, Magnus?_

“You don’t get to say shit,” Magnus gasps, pounding on his chest with a closed fist. He barely feels it. “You left. _You actually fucking left me_.”

He takes a drink and the cheap liquor burns all the way down, but it warms him from the inside out, and that was all he was looking for. It might be a false illusion of peace, but he’ll take it.

He sleeps on and off, shadows growing on the floor, lengthening, then shrinking back, miserable days bleeding into restless nights.

By the next week, he’s used up all his personal days. Magnus rolls off the couch and manages to get himself in the shower, bumping into walls along the way. Grief does funny things to a person, can make you clumsy, numb. He’s 30 feet underwater with no idea which way is up.

He steps under the warm water spray, shivering. Something prickles at his foot and he curses, water pouring into his eyes, and feeling blindly along his sole. It’s a little feather, the sharp quill embedded under his tough skin. Magnus turns, holding the tiny white feather it in his hand, the spray beating down on his back. Such a tiny source of pain, but here it is.

He carefully lays the feather on the edge of the tub and finishes showering, washing off the utter filth of the past week. He has to admit that it feels good. As much as he’d like to feel nothing ever again, it’s comforting to know that little things still hold pleasure.

 

\---

 

  
Magnus goes to work and makes it through the first half of the day. He spends his first break avoiding other people and eating half a warm chicken salad sandwich he bought from the cafeteria on his way in. It roils in his stomach and he throws the rest away, hands shaking. What he really wants is a drink, and he knows that’s not a good sign.

By mid-afternoon, he’s worked through most of his call list. Someone is a little interested. “I’ve never been happy with my weight,” she replies, voice hesitant and soft.

Magnus decidedly goes off-script because he has no sense and absolutely no business working in a call center. “And you think losing weight will make you happy?” he asks, voice clipped. He’s being unkind and he can’t bring himself to care. “Because let me tell you, sister, you can have everything figured out, you can be beautiful, have the perfect boyfriend, and everything just goes to shit anyway.”

“I--”

“One perfect night,” Magnus continues, voice going thick. “But not even perfect because he has to go back to heaven or wherever. I don’t even know where he’s from. I never thought to ask.”

Magnus is totally going to get fired and he probably deserves to.

“Did you say heaven?” she asks. Katie, he thinks is her name.

“Uh, New Haven,” Magnus amends quickly. “He’s a fisherman. I miss him terribly.”

“It sounds like you’ve had a rough year,” Katie says kindly.

People are being too nice to him, excusing his shitty behavior, but he finds that people are wont to be kind in general. He doesn’t know what it says about him that this fact surprises him.

Magnus says, “Listen, Katie, you don’t need weight loss pills. Losing weight isn’t going to make you happier. Being happy will make you happier, and there’s no magic pill for that. Everything else is just—window dressings.”

“Do you have any advice on how to be happy?” Katie asks.

“Would I be working in a call center if I did?” Magnus volunteers, “I drink a lot.” What is he doing? He’s thirty, boyfriend-less, and advising a perfectly nice stranger to become a lush.

“Forget what I said,” he says miserably, curled over his desk like a giant question mark. It seems appropriate, given that his life is nothing but a series of unanswered questions. “You seem really nice. Nicer than me, probably. I think you’ll be fine.”

“I think you will be too.”

Magnus disagrees, but he doesn’t say so. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Katherine,” he says softly and hangs up.

Raphael knocks on the wall of his cubicle. “That was nearly painful to listen to.”

“I’m in a lot of pain,” Magnus says dully. His laptop is in his bag, shoved under his desk, unopened. Since Alec left, he hasn’t even attempted to write. This is the longest he’s gone. It feels like defeat.

“You could drink your pain away?” Raphael says unhelpfully because he’s parroting Magnus’ own stupid advice right back at him, and because he’s young and hasn’t learned yet that it’ll just be there waiting for him in the morning. Hurt can only be put off for so long. But Magnus has tried changing his circumstances and that didn’t work.

Inadvisably, he says yes.

After work, Magnus goes out with his coworkers after clocking out. The music is too loud and the décor cheesy, the type of faux-trendy 9-5 bullshittery that he normally would have avoided. But it sells liquor and chicken wings and apparently, his standards have been somewhat lowered in the past few weeks.

Michael Bublé plays in the background and Magnus covers his face in shame. If there was a basement, his standards would be about twenty feet below that.

He orders one drink, then another, letting the chatter of his coworkers bitching about work wash over him, sink into his bones. This is what he started, his legacy to the world. And it’s a really shitty one. He drinks too much, all the while telling himself that if Alec doesn’t like it, he shouldn’t have fucking left.

They call it a night around 11pm, and Magnus takes an uber back to his apartment. “My eyeballs are swimming,” Magnus says happily. Hie belly sloshes, and the world tilts unpleasantly. He knows that he’s going to regret this in the morning, but right now, the alcohol warming his veins is the only thing keeping him semi-upright.

“I feel like I should go with you,” Raphael says, brow creased with worry.

“I’m fine,” Magnus replies. “I’m just going straight home and to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Magnus is lying, but Raphael believes him. He’s always been too good at lying. All of his life, he’s been insisting he’s perfectly fine and always waiting for someone to see through it, to reach out. He's still waiting. He’s never been able to ask for help, even when he desperately needed it.

Raphael nods with one last uneasy glance back and leaves Magnus standing on the corner.

A few minutes later, his Uber pulls up to the curb. Magnus makes his unsteady way over.

“You don’t so hot, buddy. You’re not going to ralph, are you?” the driver asks uneasily as Magnus slides into the back seat.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Magnus assures him, belching loudly.

“I hate the goddamn night shift,” the Uber driver mumbles before taking Magnus to the address he provided.

Magnus leans back, rolls down the window, letting the breeze clear his head. The air is heavy and damp with the promise of rain, thick on his tongue. He wonders if Alec is with him now. Guess he’ll never know.

The drive back is mercifully short, and Magnus staggers into his building. It takes him three tries to get the key in the lock and then he’s taking the elevator up to his apartment. The doors slide open and Magnus stares at the familiar dimly-lit hall, hands braced against the wall. He doesn’t know if he can stand to sit on his couch, thinking about what Alec would have been doing, or worse, stripping off and falling into their bed, the place where he last saw Alec, where he kissed Alec's neck and prayed to the universe to keep him. Their sheets still smell like them – okay, mostly Magnus’ past sweaty drunken days – but still, there’s a little bit of Alec lingering there.

He closes his eyes and punches a random elevator button. The doors open on the top floor and Magnus wanders around the silent hall until he reaches the stairs. He pushes through the door and heads up to the roof. It’s begun raining, the torrential thunderstorms of late summer, the last gasp between seasons. Change can never be easy or peaceful, it seems.

Magnus begins pacing angrily. “Why did he have to leave?” he asks the sky, the rain pouring into his eyes and stinging. He’s screaming, but there’s no one to hear him. “Why did you have to take him from me? Hey! Hey, come down and talk to me, you overgrown turkeys!”

He’s so fucking drunk, the world is swimming around him, the bright city lights nothing but distant blurry smears. Lightning flashes behind him, briefly illuminating the rooftop. Magnus is scrubbed raw, flayed but still breathing, every breath like inhaling shattered glass. This is _unimaginable_.

Is Alec here with him right now? Close enough to touch? Or is one of his siblings here with him, silently watching Magnus slowly fall apart? Fuck Alec, _fuck them all_.

He can’t bear to live like this.

“Alec,” Magnus groans, taking a staggering step back. The rain lets up a bit, the city goes quiet, almost as if the night is listening. “Come back to me. So, you won’t remember me? I’ll spend the rest of my life looking for you. So, you’ll be born in a different time? I’ll wait a thousand years for you. You told me to take a chance, now it’s your turn. Besides, _what do you have to lose_?”

If Alec was any kind of guardian angel, he’d get his glorious feathered ass down here right now and come back to Magnus. Magnus isn’t ready to let go. He never will be. He’s lost way too many people in his lifetime and he's never been any good at it. So maybe the extraordinarily shitty universe will do this small thing for him; he’s owed that much at least. “Please come back. _Please, please, please._ ”

He’s drunkenly circling the rooftop, way too close to the edge. Magnus listens carefully through the rain, to the sounds of traffic, horns honking. But there's no answer.

Magnus backs up, a sob ripped from his chest, ragged and burning on its way up, a thousand times worse than the liquor did going down. He feels the ground beneath his feet, each step he takes, scraping against the concrete, and it doesn’t even register for half a second when he takes another step and feels nothing but air.

That shitty Super, Magnus thinks. He never did replace the rusted railing.

Magnus throws himself forward, desperately scrabbling for the edge, the fingernails on his right hand scraping across the cement, tearing and bleeding against the brick. For a split-second, he thinks he’s going to be okay. Then the rain starts again, even harder this time, lightning creasing the sky, as he watches his hand slip.

He's weightless, in utter feefall. Time slows down.  The space between one heartbeat, two, the throbbing at the tips of his fingernails.

He’d be lying to himself if he hadn’t idly wondered if this is what it would take to see Alec again, but as he falls, he doesn’t think of Alec at all. He thinks of the flowers he planted at his mother’s grave – petunias in pinks and purples - spilling out over the ground; he thinks of his promise to watch Madzie for the weekend, of getting an iced coffee with Catarina; Ragnor, bitching about everything as Magnus pretends to listen.

Last, he thinks of Alec, sitting on the couch, amused and saying, “Eating bananas in bed is so relaxing but what do you do with the peel?”

Alec wouldn’t have wanted this. _He_ doesn’t want this.

Magnus thinks of these things and realizes he’s been inexcusably careless with his life, pushing people away who wanted to love him, refusing to acknowledge everything he did have because he didn’t have exactly what he wanted in exactly the way he wanted. There is no romance or glory or peace in death. There is only devastation, the utter waste of a potential life.

It’s a hell of a revelation to have while falling a hundred feet.

Magnus closes his eyes and braces for impact as the ground rushes up to meet him, lights a blur around him like the fireworks he watched with Alec that night at the carnival, the sparklers when he was a kid that he and Catarina held for so long that the tips heated and singed their fingers.

This is going to hurt, but not nearly as much as knowing that it didn’t have to end this way and that he has no one to blame but himself.

Just before he hits the pavement, he hears the flap of wings and feels strong arms around him. _Alec_ , he feebly thinks. But then there’s the soft smell of freesia and a woman’s voice whispering in his ear, “You’re going to be okay, Magnus Bane. I’ve got you now.”

  
\---

 

Magnus hears an annoying beep followed by an even more annoying voice.

“Hello, old friend,” Ragnor says. “You don’t call, you don’t write. You do, occasionally, send hilarious drunken text messages though.

Magnus opens his mouth to respond, but his mouth is so dry. He forces his crusty eyes open and stares at a white ceiling. Something nudges his lips and he looks over to see Catarina holding a straw to his mouth.

Magnus takes a few deep, satisfying sips before the straw is taken away. “Not too much now,” Catarina warns. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Magnus licks his dry, cracked lips. There’s an IV running from the side of his wrist to the annoying beeping machine and Catarina leans over and pushes a button, turning it off.

“What were you doing up on the roof?” Catarina says. She has dark smudges under her eyes, her clothes wrinkled. She moves stiffly like she’s spent the night sleeping in one of the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room. He’s put her through hell.

Magnus sighs and admits, “Being an idiot. I fell. It was an accident.”

“The police are saying that the fall should have killed you.”

“Guess I got lucky,” Magnus says. The memories are fuzzy, but he’s not sure how to explain that he’s pretty sure he was saved by his guardian angel’s sister. He’s already in the hospital. The psych ward is one floor up and happily waiting for him.

“I’ll say. They ran every test on you they could and you have a mild concussion and a sprained ankle. Someone was sure watching out for you.”

She couldn’t possibly have any idea how true that is. Magnus coughs and asks, “Where’s Madzie?”

“One of the nurses is watching her for me. I’ve known him for years.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“We’re just friends,” Catarina says, avoiding his eyes.

Sure, and he and Alec were just bros that shared a bed. But Magnus lets it go. She’ll tell him when she’s ready.

So maybe his family and past loves have disappointed him, hurt him. But he has _this_ family, who he’s never appreciated enough.

He takes her hand. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Same,” Catarina says softly, eyes warm. “Don’t you ever fucking do this to me again.”

“I promise,” Magnus says, and he means it.

There are many types of love. He may have not had a choice whether to fall in love with Alec or not, but the most powerful is the love you choose for yourself.

He chooses his friends, his family, the ones that have stood by and loved him even when he had no idea how to love himself. There’ll be bad days, inevitable backsliding, but finally, he’s moving forward. He has to. Losing Alec doesn’t mean the end of his dreams, just this particular one.

When he gets home, he’s going to clean his apartment, throw out the bottles of liquor, stop being lazy and walk them down to the trash himself. Last, he’ll strip the bed, holding the sheets to his face, inhaling the last remnants of Alec, committing the fading scent to memory. Then, he’ll put on a fresh set of sheets and tuck the old ones away.

Afterward, he’ll sit down and start writing. His fingers itch to feel the familiar click of the keys beneath the pads of his fingers. He has a million ideas, all competing to be told first. He’d decided a while ago that this was going to be a love story, but as it turned out, it was not at all the love story he expected. Loving yourself is so much harder than loving someone else. Finding peace is infinitely harder than finding love. Contentment and acceptance with your lot in life is a constant struggle, but one that he’s finally willing to take on.

It’s time to move on, he realizes. Life’s too short to do otherwise.

 

 ---

  
Catarina leaves to go pester the doctor to sign his release forms while Ragnor eats all his jello because he says it’s the least Magnus can do after giving him such a scare. It’s the closest Ragnor has ever come to admitting he cares, so Magnus wordlessly hands him the strangely tough jello and a spoon.

Ragnor says, jello jiggling ominously, “Catarina told me there was a strange man living with you.”

“He’s gone now.”

“Really, Magnus? Some man? Is he really worth all this?”

Magnus thinks of Alec’s smiles, of waking up next to him, stretched out beneath warm sunlight and watching him sleep. He thinks of doing laundry together, watching TV, cooking, holding hands, and the absolute mess he’s made of his life. The drinking, the crying jags, the fall.

“No,” he concludes finally. “I think he was my soulmate, and I don’t know if I’ll ever love someone the same way again, but no. I think I can survive losing him. Does that make me terrible?”

Ragnor crosses the room, tossing the empty cup into the trash. “Well, I never thought I’d see the day.”

“What day?”

Ragnor gives his arm a little squeeze. “The day you finally grew up.”

 

 ---

  
After Ragnor leaves for work, Magnus spends the morning waiting to be released and flipping through lousy daytime TV, thinking Alec would have liked this or Alec would have hated this. Oh, who is he kidding? Alec was the worst; he liked any old crap with a laugh track.

It still hurts, Alec being gone. It might always hurt, the same way the knee he broke playing pickup football in college hurts every time it rains; a bone-deep ache that makes him feel the years, the passing of time keenly. Alec is the loss of the limb, a broken bone that will always ache. But one day, Magnus can imagine running through the pain, maybe running despite it.

“Alec,” he says to the empty room, “I really think you’d like this show. Apparently, all the doctors on this show are really dumb and have sex everywhere. I hear there’s a couple of hot gay doctors, too.”

Magnus rubs at his eyes, takes a couple of deep, shuddering breaths. “Okay, okay. I don’t know if you’re here and I don’t know if you’re listening, but I think I have to let you go. You know I love you, right? That I’ll always love you?”

He pushes the power button on the remote and the TV flickers off.

“Yeah, okay. I just—I have to live my life now, even if that means living it without you.”

He slips out of the bed and hobbles to the window. His ankle aches and protests each step, but he keeps going anyway. “You can go now. I think I’m going to be okay.” Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but he can almost feel a hand cup his jaw, the tingling press of lips against the corner of his mouth, and he leans into the phantom warmth one last time. Then it’s gone.

Magnus reaches forward, opens the window’s blinds, and realizes the rain has stopped.

 

\---

 

Catarina has him wait by the hospital entrance while she pulls her car around. How ironic to survive a hundred foot fall just to be killed by road rage. The woman is a menace on the road.

He’s wearing his suit from last night, stiff and uncomfortable from the dried rain. He has his crutches and a sad bag full of his belongings the hospital took from him when he was brought into the Emergency Room. He didn’t dare look at the state of his hair. He’s feeling braver lately, but not that brave.

Magnus shoulders his way through the front doors. As soon as he hits the sunlight, he notices a small crowd gathered around an artist. Over his shoulder, there’s a redhead guiding his hand. Her glorious coppery spill of hair catches his attention at first, but then he notices her beautiful wings, arcing gracefully behind her.

 

 _“Children and some mundanes have the sight. Sometimes kids have the sight and grow out of it. It comes with a certain_ amount _of…idealism. Sometimes people gain the sight as a result of a tragedy.”_

_“Like a curse? Or a gift?”_

_“I suppose that would be up to you? It requires faith.”_

 

Across the street, there’s a homeless man, huddled down next to a building. A powerfully-built winged angel crouches down next to him, watching with sad dark eyes. A woman passing by pauses, takes a step back and hands the homeless man a few dollars. The thread between them, pale yellow before, grows brighter.

Magnus sucks in a sharp breath. There are – angels, they’re _everywhere_. But they don't really matter. There’s magic all around, but it doesn’t come from the angels. It comes from humans, the large golden web that connects them all. A family crosses the street at the light, tightly bound with shining threads, so numerous and thick that the whole family seems to glow from within. A group of laughing friends down the block, hopelessly intertwined. Everywhere he looks, people shine.

As Alec had told him some time ago, these threads are possibility. They’re connection. They’re love. And they are _everywhere_ , touching everyone. No one is alone.

For all that humanity fails, for all that we are unkind, we are possessing of this peculiar saving grace.

Magnus’ knees go weak and he sits down on the curb, watching the people pass, become more entangled, glow brighter. Perhaps this is Alec’s last gift to him: the ability to see a thousand bodies, all suffused with light.

Magnus finally has the belief in a better tomorrow, the ability to not settle for less than he deserves, the courage to reach out to others. He has faith in a kind universe, in the love that binds all living things. Most importantly, he has faith in himself.

A red car pulls up next to him. “Looking for more buildings to fall off of?” Catarina says, peering out the open window.

Magnus laughs and clumsily gets to his feet. He tosses his bag in the backseat, pushes his crutches between the seats and slides in, closing the door behind him.

“Too soon?” she asks.

“Maybe,” Magnus says, but he’s still grinning as he buckles his seatbelt.

“Where to next?”

It’s the question of a lifetime, one that he’s just beginning to find the answers to, but he’s slowly getting there.

“Home,” Magnus says. “Take me home.”

He fully believes he’ll see Alec again on the other side of all his tomorrows. He has faith in that, too. But in the meantime, Magnus has work to do.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! xx
> 
> do check out the lovely artwork done for this fic:  
> [angel alec](https://twitter.com/the_biconic_mb/status/1124747608000536582) by @the_biconic_mb  
> [NSFW Malec](https://twitter.com/SeLBanewood/status/1124596976673181696) by @SeLBanewood

 

The crisp, clean air burns his lungs and Magnus is careful running over newly-shoveled trails. Some areas are still slick from the heavy snowfall a few days ago, the tail end of a harsh winter.

Despite his propensity for busting his ass, Magnus actually loves running in the winter. It’s cold and quiet, the snow muffling the city sounds, only the most dedicated runners out.

His breath puffs out in tiny clouds in front of him. At the two-mile marker, his right knee aches and protests, but he forces himself to keep going. It’s an old injury, kind of like Alec. His loss hurts, will always be a bone-deep ache that hurts like the aftershocks of a broken bone, but he mostly remembers the love now, the warm, tender moments bookended by so much pain. But he’s still not sorry he fell in love. Alec changed him for the better, and he likes to think he did the same for Alec. Even loss can’t take that from him.

After all, people missing limbs learn to run again, and so can he. His steps speed up as he gains momentum and starts the long trek home.

 

\---

 

When he gets back to his apartment, Catarina and Madzie are inside, eating breakfast. “You smell bad,” Madzie says, wrinkling her nose. Magnus gives his shirt an experimental sniff. Well, she’s not wrong.

“I can fix that, my little peach,” he tells her and peels his shirt off. They come over every Sunday to eat breakfast. Catarina or Magnus makes it, Ragnor complains, and they all pitch in to clean up together. It’s the closest to a family tradition that Magnus has ever come, and he suspects it’s more than most people get.

“Really now,” Ragnor complains, “you’ll put me off my breakfast.”

“I think you mispronounced jealousy,” Magnus says, puckering up and blowing a kiss at Ragnor, who shakes his head sadly.

“Clean up and come join us,” Catarina tells him. “Stop flirting with Ragnor, he doesn’t appreciate it.”

“I do not,” Ragnor confirms. The corners of his mouth are turned up, though.

Magnus pads to the bathroom and jumps in the shower. When he comes out, dressed in nice slacks and a loose, flowing top that’s definitely too much for a casual breakfast, Raphael is sitting next to Madzie, talking to her in low tones.

“Your sullen coworker stopped by to check on you,” Ragnor informs him. Instead of coffee, he drinks ridiculous tea because he enjoys being eccentrically posh.

Raphael shoots Ragnor a dirty look.

“You know his name,” Catarina chides.

“You're just mad because, in college, _you_ were my sullen coworker,” Magnus says. “I’ve replaced you with a younger, better-looking model.”

There’s a man hovering behind the table and Raphael gestures towards him half-heartedly. “My friend, kind of. His name is Simon.”

“Hi, kind of friend Simon,” Magnus says, giving his arm a pat. “Welcome to my casa.” It takes him a few seconds, but he recognizes Simon as the artist on the corner, the one with the beautiful red-haired angel. She’s nowhere around now, but angels often don’t stick around. He should know that better than most.

After breakfast, Magnus cleans up. Raphael and Simon wander out onto the balcony, bundled up against the cold. Raphael spends all his time bitching about how lousy Simon is, but listens carefully as Simon plays, head bowed low, running his thumb over his bottom lip. The red-haired angel is back, perched on the railing.

What strange new world has Magnus found himself in? He barely flinches when he catches a glimpse of wings, sees the air shimmer and then someone pops up out of nowhere. He mostly ignores them and they ignore him right back, except the ones that peer at him curiously when they think he isn’t looking. He never does see Alec, but somehow, that doesn’t surprise him. Magnus meant it when he said he had to him let go. He hopes Alec is out there somewhere in the universe, spreading love and doing good work. The world could certainly use it.

The love he felt for Alec was beautiful and passionate and all-consuming, but it wasn’t perfect. He loved Alec most of all because he saved him when all Alec really wanted was for Magnus to learn how to save himself.

While he’s maybe not totally saved, still feels like a clueless idiot, an imposter in his own life, he’s trying, navigating the choppy waters as best as he can. At least he’s not stagnant. He's trying. It’s all he can do.

His book hit bookshelves a month ago and reviews are trickling in. He’s cut down on hours at the call center so he can devote more time to writing. The media is full of stories of rags-to-riches writers, people that strike gold their first time out, but for everyone else, you need to practice. So, Magnus keeps going, keeps writing.

Last week, he found a Tumblr blog dedicated to his books and he got probably more excited than was warranted.

Catarina is in the kitchen, sitting on a stool in front of the counter and clipping coupons.  “Stop staring like a weirdo and come help me,” she says without lifting her head.

Magnus slides in next to her. “This is so dumb,” Magnus complains.

“I’m a single mom,” Catarina says, flipping through the leaflets and handing him a spare set of shears, “and you’re a struggling writer. You should be using them yourself and get over this weird hipster too good to save money thing.”

“You’re right,” Magnus concedes and takes an insert. “Oh hey, 50 cents off butter.”

Catarina laughs. “I told you.”

He brushes her shoulder with his own. “Oh hey, my neighbor passed away. The elderly lady that lives alone directly below me?”

“The one that insults your shoes every time you help her with the groceries?”

“Yeah, that one. I went to her funeral last week and left a pair of my most sparkly shoes at her gravesite.”

“You didn’t,” Catarina says, cackling.

“I did,” Magnus says between gasps for air, nearly doubled over. “I figured I’d give her something to be furious about in the afterlife.

Simon is strumming something upbeat on the balcony. If he starts in on that Mumford and Sons bullshit, Magnus is going to kick him out of his apartment, despite the wan thread growing between them.

There’s an icy draft as Simon and Raphael come in, arguing about superior dead guitarists. Ragnor corrects Madzie’s puzzle placement and she nonchalantly slaps his hand away. Catarina asks him if he thinks buying four dozen bottles of water is silly to save $5. What if there’s another storm and the pipes freeze again?

Magnus puts down his scissors and looks around. His apartment shines with the connections, the love. If his life was a road and he was a weary traveler, then his various lovers would be occasional passengers down this long, winding path. Romantic partners come and go and if you’re very lucky, they do more good than bad, leave you better off than when you started, but there are some people that are ride or die, companions for life. And he has a whole apartment full of them.

So, take a moment. Breathe the air. After all, you never know when it’ll end.

“Empty two bedroom apartment in New York?” Catarina is saying. “It’s gonna be a bloodbath.”

“The apartment is already taken,” Ragnor says from the floor where he’s reluctantly doing a puzzle with Madzie. He carefully watches her progress. “I told you, you infernal child, those pieces don’t go together.” Madzie sticks her tongue out at him and Ragnor scoffs.

Catarina looks at Magnus a little desperately. “You’ll watch her while I go to the conference, right?”

“Of course, can’t leave her with Ragnor all weekend,” Magnus says. “After all, they’d insult each other to death.”

“I like it this way!” Madzie yells, forcing the pieces together.

“You pernicious _little beast_! Fine, have it your way,” Ragnor huffs. Magnus isn’t sure who’s being the bigger baby. Probably Ragnor. _Definitely_ him.

“Thanks,” Catarina says with great feeling.

“I ran into one of the new tenants on my way up,” Ragnor announces as if he hadn’t heard their entire insulting exchange. He’s working on the corner of the puzzle, neatly slotting the pieces together while Madzie works on the center, a swirling mass of color that isn’t correct, but it is interesting. She has a good eye for color.

“Another old lady?” Magnus asks, excitedly adding another coupon to his growing stack. He doesn’t need eight loaves of bread, but if he did, he would save so much money.

Ragnor scratches his chin thoughtfully. “No, tall fellow, dark hair, young. I suspect you would find him disgustingly attractive.”

Magnus feels his heartbeat speed up. Stop it, he tells himself. There are tons of tall men with dark hair. He’s seen about half of them in crowds, two steps ahead, or turning a corner, and every time, he would wait, heart in his throat, just to be disappointed when it wasn’t Alec. It was never Alec.

There’s no reason to think this time should be different.

He finishes combing his section of the newspaper and tosses the rest into the recycling bin and notices the trash is full. He sighs and pulls the full bag out of the bin. “Be right back,” he says, leaving Catarina and Ragnor arguing about the dumb new mayor of the city.

In the hall, he passes by a beautiful dark-haired woman. “Sorry,” he mutters. He almost doesn’t see the huge white wings that stretch behind her until she reaches out and touches his elbow. He feels a buzz, a familiar crackle where her skin touches his.

“I hope you dweebs appreciate that I burned every favor I was owed to swing this,” she says.

The voice sounds so familiar.

She winks at him and gives his elbow a little encouraging squeeze. “You’ve already come so far. Just a little bit further, Magnus,” she says, barely breaking stride. She turns the corner, and then she’s gone. Behind her, she leaves a single white feather and the gentle scent of freesia.

Magnus stumbles forward.

He knocks on the door, heart hammering in his chest. An unfamiliar young blond man opens the door a second later with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “I told you, we’re not interested.”

Magnus nearly chokes on his disappointment. Of course, it isn’t Alec. It’s fine. “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” he says mechanically.

“Are you here for Alec?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

If there was any strength left in Magnus’ body, it’s gone now. He feels like the air has been sucked out of the hallway.

The man’s eyes narrow. They’re pretty eyes, two different colors. “I don’t know you. Do you work with him?” He blinks. “Were you like—a hookup? Are you mad at him?”

Magnus licks his parched lips. “Are you Jace?” _Are you the brother who wouldn’t let him fall alone?_

Jace relaxes and he pulls the toothbrush out his mouth. “Have we met? How drunk was I last night? I just graduated from college and we were celebrating.”

An entire life lived apart. They have history, lives. He and Alec might not have ever met if not for a meddling sister owed a hell of a lot of favors. But Alec couldn’t continue as he was and neither could Magnus. He remembers drunkenly yelling at Alec on the rooftop, rain pouring into his eyes. _What do you have to lose?_

Apparently, Alec’s answer was the same as Magnus’ was when he posed the same question: _nothing he wasn’t willing to risk_.

“I’ve mostly heard of you by reputation,” Magnus assures him, feeling shaken to his very core.

Jace shrugs. “Whelp, come on in, I guess. But don’t yell at him too much. He gets all slutty and forgetful when he’s been drinking.”

“That’s, uh. Good to know.” Magnus follows him inside, closing the door behind him. Their apartment is mostly full of boxes and trash, typical of the male twenty-something species. Typical of him until a few short months ago.

Jace jerks his thumb towards a door on the far left. “I think he’s still drunk-sleeping. If you lose your way, you can always follow the snores.” He laughs at his own joke as he pours himself a cup of coffee and dumps six heaping teaspoons of sugar into it.

Magnus walks over to the door Jace pointed out, leaving him moodily sipping coffee, hunched over the counter, littered with empty Payday wrappers.

 _Oh, Alec_ , Magnus thinks affectionately.

He knocks softly and when there’s no answer, pushes the door open, feeling like he’s standing on the edge of a great precipice.

In the middle of the bed, lying on his stomach, is Alec, tangled up in golden sheets. Magnus takes in his smooth bare back, the dark hair, the strong slope of his shoulders that he would recognize anywhere, across a thousand lifetimes.

Magnus crosses the room and settles in next to Alec, who twitches in his sleep. He watches him slowly wake up, his awareness flickering on like a lightbulb. Magnus runs a hand through his hair, pushing his hair back from his face and still half-asleep, Alec nuzzles the warmth of his hand. “Heya, sweetheart,” Magnus says softly.

Alec opens his eyes, catches sight of Magnus, and jerks wide awake, sheets clutched to his chest. “ _Who the hell are you_?”

Magnus coughs. He hadn’t actually planned this far ahead. “Uh--Magnus. Magnus Bane.”

“Oh my god, how drunk was I last night?”

“You told me I was the best you’d ever had,” Magnus lies, mouth twitching.

“O-okay.” Alec’s eyes are terribly wide.

“You also said I had the biggest--”

“All right, I get the point,” Alec interrupts. “I’m never drinking again, no matter what Jace says.”

“That’s probably wise,” Magnus agrees.

“We-” Alec lowers his voice “-you know, _did stuff_?”

Magnus feels himself grin helplessly. “A great many things.”

Alec’s fingers loosen incrementally, knuckles no longer bone-white. “Wow, okay.” His gaze drops down as he looks Magnus over. “Wow. You’re really— _wow_. I have great taste.” Alec flushes a deep red and groans.

“Well,” Magnus says smugly, “I have many gifts.”

“And modesty is clearly one of them. So, what do you do for a living with all these gifts?” Alec asks dryly.

Surprisingly, the answer comes easily to him. Magnus finds that he’s proud to say it, finally feels like he’s earned the title. It didn’t take runaway success or all the things he thought, it just took some sweat and persistence and belief in himself. “I'm a writer.”

“Sounds glamorous.”

Magnus thinks of the rejections, every snotty review, every fan that asked him when his next book was coming out without bothering to thank him for the one he just published. He thinks of long nights spent writing just to get up and work his regular job three hours later, the backaches, the even worse heartache. “I’m a very glamorous person,” he murmurs, looking down. His nail polish is chipped, right on the edge of his thumb.

Alec finally relaxes and he stretches out on his side, chin propped up on his hand. “So, tell me a story, novelist.”

Magnus scoots back, propped up against the headrest, and crosses his legs. “Let’s see, my book begins in kind of a weird way.”

“I like weird.”

“Then you’re in for another wild ride, young man,” Magnus says, loving the way Alec’s face pinks up again as the innuendo slides home. Magnus continues, “There was a lonely man who woke up one day with an angel in his bed...”

“ _What_?” Alec says, laughing disbelievingly.

Of all the things he’s missed about Alec, Magnus thinks he’s missed these rare, hard-won smiles the most. Alec didn't smile much before because he was carrying the weight of thousands of years. This version of him is lighter, eyes bright. Maybe this time, Magnus can get him to smile every day, every hour, every minute. Maybe this time they can get it right.

Magnus lets his eyes slip shut as his voice catches. “Yeah, an actual angel, wings and all. I know it seems like a dopey premise, but I think it works.” Magnus pauses. “Do you believe in angels, Alec?”

“No, but I’m willing to be convinced.” Alec seems amused.

“I can work with that,” Magnus says, settling in and beginning his story. He talks until the sun is high in the sky, melting the snow away to reveal the first hints of green beneath it. He’s getting to the part about the carnival when he realizes how much time has passed. He cuts himself off and checks his watch.

“So, how does this story end?” Alec asks, a little breathless.

“I don’t know,” Magnus says thoughtfully, shaking his head. “I’m still writing it. I thought I knew, but the ending keeps changing on me.”

“Maybe it doesn’t end,” Alec says quietly, “maybe it can just keep going.”

“That’s an idea,” Magnus says brightly. “And when I die, I can force my grandkids to keep writing shitty sequels.”

Alec's laugh is interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn, his hair jutting up at odd angles. “I want to hear more, I really do, but I’m going to need some coffee.” He looks over at Magnus and rubs a tired hand over his face. There are dark smudges beneath his eyes, his hair is a total mess, and he still has the sheet up around his armpits like a vestal virgin. Magnus still finds him charming, nearly irresistible.

Even after all they’ve gone through, the life changes, the distance, there’s still this: a tenuous connection between them, gold and fragile. He wonders if they had a thread between them before. Only Alec would know, and he’s not telling any time soon. Magnus kind of thinks maybe not. You can fall in love with the right person at the totally wrong time. There was no real possibility for them before; he can see that now without it hurting or feeling like a failure.

But it’s there now and it’s only getting stronger.

Alec says, head tilted down shyly, “You want to come with?”

Magnus doesn’t know if Alec is a passenger for life or just a companion for a short while, but he’s ready and eager to find out. And if it doesn’t work out? He can survive that too. Magnus is enough by himself, and he always has been. He doesn’t need Alec to survive, but he sure as hell wants him.

“Nothing would please me more,” Magnus says honestly. He pulls out his phone and texts Catarina, so she knows not to expect him back for a while.

Alec rolls out of bed, still holding the sheet protectively around him and opens the closet. He pulls on a pair of jeans and slips a jacket over his bare, wonderfully solid shoulders.

“Do you believe in destiny?”

“Not at all,” Alec says, laughing, back still turned.

Magnus chuckles, studying his nails. He’ll probably paint them green, the same dark brown and khaki-green color as Alec’s eyes. “Hm, what about love at first sight?”

“I—I think so, yes,” Alec says. “Maybe not love at first sight, but a possibility? Yeah, I believe in that. I know it makes me kind of gross and sappy. Jace makes fun of me all the time, calls me a big sentimental gay, but I guess I do believe.” He twists around to look at Magnus, “Is that stupid?”

“Not even a little bit,” Magnus says softly. “It might be the wisest, kindest thing I’ve ever heard.”

After all, what is love but an extension of faith and what is faith but a blind belief in something yet unproven? They’re but small pieces of a larger puzzle, which sometimes fit together in surprising and unexpected ways, the whole of which will never be finished, always shifting, always changing. But that’s life and that’s what it means to be a part of it. And even with the soaring highs and the terrifying lows, it is _glorious_.

Alec makes a pleased sound. “You ready for that coffee?” he asks, turning around as he finishes zipping his hoodie up. Magnus gets a split-second glance at his chest and sucks in a harsh breath. He doesn’t really believe in destiny or fate either, but honestly, what the fuck does he know?

Because above Alec’s heart, in bold black ink, is the love rune.

  
  



End file.
